


When the Levee Breaks

by CreativelyCole



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Copious Puns, F/F, Hey Gamers Be Sure To Like Comment And Subscribe, M/M, Meta, Theorycraft, Video Game Mechanics, Westfall is the Best Zone Ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativelyCole/pseuds/CreativelyCole
Summary: Horace Lin knew that peace wouldn't last.  After Argus, he exchanged sword and shield for a chance to help bring his beloved home of Westfall back to life with the help of his partner, Anduin Wrynn.  Things never seem to go according to plan, however, and suddenly everyone is forced to make hard choices.  Only time will tell if the consequences are ones they can live with.*Updates will be pretty sporadic just because I need to focus on my college courses.  Thank you for understanding! :)*





	1. Burnin' Down the House

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to new and continuing readers both (new readers should probably hop over to "The Totally Righteous Bro" for context first, though)! I was actually planning to call this "It Hits the Fan" but I really do love me some Led Zepplin. I'm very excited to present this to everyone and I hope you enjoy! For TTRB, I really strove to stay true to the lore, only adding things that I thought would enrich an already expansive and immersive universe, like adding some crumbly goat feta into a delicious spring harvest salad. And in this I stole the lore cookie jar when the devs weren't looking and they can't reach me in my treehouse because I pulled up the ladder. I'll update when I'm able but homework and work work have to come first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _And at any second now I think it all might fall apart_ \- Mother Mother, "Dread in My Heart"

_Fwump!_

Horace couldn’t help but grin as Anduin unceremoniously flopped back into the grass, his sword clattering to the ground.  Sticking his own blade into the dirt, he strolled over and extended his hand, helping the groaning priest sit upright.

“The day I beat you in sparring,” he panted, “I’m going to eat my crown.”

That brought a fully-fledged laugh from Horace.  “Don’t tell me that; I’ll hold you to it.”  He joined him on the ground, wiping the sweat from his brow and taking a long pull from his canteen.

“Are you doing alright, though?  No serious pain?” Anduin asked.

“Nope.  You?” He poured some of the water over his damp hair and gave his head a good shake.

Anduin squawked indignantly as some of the droplets hit him in the face.  “No more than usual.” He pulled off his boot and rolled up his pant leg to inspect the prosthetic device currently attached to what remained of his right leg.  The Light rimmed his hand, and he used it to soothe the scar tissue and muscles resting in the socket.

It was a fancy, complicated-looking device, one that Gelbin Mekkatorque himself had built.  Mostly metal with some polished wood accents, it served Anduin much better than his original prosthesis.  A series of gears and springs existed in place of a knee, allowing it to move much more like a flesh and bone leg, but it wasn’t perfect.  If worn for too long, it would still cause pain and swelling, and some days Anduin still required the use of his crutch.

Meanwhile, Horace was holding up well thanks to the hard work and patience of the healers.  The deep gash and ripped-up intestines had started to scar over, and he could finally eat solid meals.  Now all that was left was to regain the weight he had lost and get back into fighting form, the latter of which meant he got to spend more time with his partner.  They sparred once per day, usually in the mornings, and cooled down with their respective physical therapies. It was time he enjoyed very thoroughly.

Sighing contentedly into his stretch, he asked, “Got some time for Westfall today?”

“Of course.”  Anduin winced as he attempted to roll his shoulders a little farther back, tilting his head to watch the paladin rise to his feet.  “Mind helping me up?”

Horace did a decent job ignoring the twinge in his gut as he hauled Anduin upright.  For a brief moment, their noses brushed against each other, and he siezed the opportunity to place a quick peck upon his lips.

“Horace,” Anduin giggled, face going scarlet.  His gaze darted around the gardens, looking for anyone who could have seen.

Biting back a remark, he let the priest’s hand go.  Aloud, he said, “Your office, thirty minutes?”

He nodded.  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

*

“I’ve been working on a budget to revitalize Westfall’s infrastructure with.”

Horace took a seat next to Anduin at his broad oak desk.  While he was on time, his partner was always, without fail, at least ten minutes early, and therefore already had the necessary files set up when Horace arrived.

Sliding the spreadsheet forward, Anduin explained, “We have roughly ten thousand gold that we can put aside just in case there’s something which requires us to go over-budget.  I’ve also heard back from both the Earthen Ring and the Cenarion Circle. They have each agreed to send people to assist in cleansing the land of fel energy and appeasing the elements.”

He couldn’t help but light up at the news.  “That’s fantastic!” he exclaimed, scanning all of the documents.  His interest was especially piqued by the long list of donations. “I see my badgering had finally paid off,” he joked, noting how many noble surnames were on the list.  Even local merchants had been won over by Horace’s passionate implores for financial aid.

When his eyes landed on one name in particular, his heart skipped a beat: _Wrynn, Anduin_ .  And the amount made his eyes go wide as saucers.   _A hundred thousand!_  “Anduin…” he breathed, voice thick.

The man in question scratched the back of his head sheepishly.  “I know my family hasn’t exactly treated Westfall’s plight as seriously as we should have.  I wanted to make it right, to--”

Horace cut him off before he could start rambling with a jubilant kiss, running his fingers through Anduin’s long golden hair.  This time, his affection was happily reciprocated.

When they broke apart, flushed and a tad disheveled, Horace continued to embrace his partner, pressing a more chaste kiss to his cheek.  “Light, you wonderful man,” he laughed.

“It’s the least I can do,” he replied, resting his forehead against Horace’s.

Their lips continued to meet, but it was obvious Anduin was withholding some tidbit of information.  “What is it?” Horace murmured.

“The druids and shamans, they, um.”  Anduin had to pull back from his partner, unable to collect his thoughts otherwise.  “They’ll be in Stormwind tomorrow.”

“Hey, the sooner the better,” he quipped.

“With everything going on in Silithus and Darkshore, I wanted to get matters settled quickly, financial and otherwise.  That way we’re guaranteed our budget can’t be slashed by any military efforts.” His blue eyes sparkled as he met Horace’s dark brown ones.  “Come hell or high water, we are going to save Westfall.”

*

Darcy was a very conspicuous creature.  Nothing quite drew attention to a hidden rogue like a bright blue proto-drake with the personality of a puppy.  Saskia still kept him close by, however, just in case she needed to make a quick escape. Officially, she was here on behalf of King Anduin Wrynn.  Unofficially, she was drawing up a report of events which Silas Darkmoon insisted she keep him informed of. This was a show which was simply too big to miss according to the ringmaster.

When she entered Astranaar, nose already curling as a familiar, acrid stench hit her, her heart skipped a beat.  The steaming green puddles scattered about confirmed her worst suspicions: plague. This was the work of the Forsaken.

“Captain!” she called, striding quickly up to a night elf.  The kaldorei spared her a glance before returning her attention to the blight-riddled body splayed out in the grass.

“I’m an agent of the High King,” Saskia explained.  “What happened here?”

“The Horde happened,” Captain Delaryn Summermoon stated simply.  Her ears drooped. “There have been countless deaths, and likely more we won’t discover for some time.”

She found her fists clenching at her sides as she stared down at the dead Sentinel.  “They did this in Northrend too,” she growled. “ _Relentlessly_.”

“Maestra’s Outpost has fallen under Horde control, as well,” one of the soldiers added.

Captain Delaryn nodded.  “They’re heading for Darkshore.  We are preparing to leave as soon as we see to the fallen.”

Saskia had no idea what night elf burial customs were, but she knew that whatever plague-laced poison had been used would not disperse unless they thoroughly cremated the bodies.  “Very well. I’ll go on ahead, see how much damage I can do.” She turned around, put a carved whistle to her mouth, and blew.

Darcy was agile despite his size, managing to avoid knocking down any trees as he swooped down into the settlement.  He rumbled as she swung into the saddle, bunching up then launching himself upward. Massive, leathery wings worked against gravity until they were above the treetops, scattering leaves as he burst through the canopy.  Saskia took her hands off the saddlehorn to adjust her flight goggles, praying that they weren’t going to be too late.

*

They barely had time to take stock of the Horde’s movements before gyrocopters were trying to blast them out of the sky.  Saskia clung to the saddle as Darcy nose-dived towards a group of catapults, leveling out at the last second as he unleashed a stream of frostfire upon them.  A surprised roar erupted from him as he abruptly gained about fifty feet in altitude, the force of the blasts buffeting his unarmored belly.

There were mages among the troops; thankfully, no mage was immune to a lead slug.  Nudging Darcy with her heels, she held still as the proto-drake banked right, using her vantage point to blast one with her shotgun while he was in the midst of casting.  Yet when that one fell, more took his place. It took a lot of clever maneuvering on Darcy’s part to dodge the machine guns chasing him through the air, some of which nearly flung Saskia from the saddle.

“Dammit, they’re everywhere,” she snarled.  Leaning into a turn, she pumped her shotgun again, took aim, and fired, dispatching a Forsaken sniper.

It was a toss-up.  On one hand, there was a good chance they would be gunned down if they retreated.  On the other hand, there was no way they stood a chance against an army this large.

Letting loose a frustrated growl, she let Darcy burn up another line of catapults.  Then, just as she had predicted, the dice did not land favorably. A fireball hit her drake square in the wing, jolting them both to the side as he let out a pained screech.  They flailed mid-air, desperately trying not to crash anywhere near Horde forces. Darcy beat his wings as quickly as he could with his injury while Saskia spun around in the saddle, shotgun loaded.  She landed one shot smack in the middle of the cockpit, and the plane dive-bombed. Her second shot didn’t hit the pilot, but still got the propeller, dispatching it as well. To her relief, no more bothered to follow.

It terrified her how small of a dent she and Darcy had made in the Horde forces.  Whatever Sylvanas was planning to do to the night elves, she was coming prepared. In the distance, Saskia could see a yet-untouched Teldrassil.  She breathed a sigh of relief.

Darcy chuffed to get her attention.  A good thing, too, as it gave Saskia time to brace for impact.  He came in for a rough landing on an island in the midst of a raging river, sides heaving and magenta eyes screwed shut.

She scrambled out of the saddle, leaving it on but loosening the girth.  The armor stayed on as well; they may be forced to make a quick escape and Saskia did not enjoy the thought of sitting on those back spines.  Her brow furrowed as she assessed the damage to Darcy’s wing. It was still intact, thank the gods, but those were some nasty burns.

“I know it hurts, buddy,” she said, patting his side.  “Just hang tight, okay? I’ll patch you up.”

In one of the saddlebags was a first aid kit, which she procured and popped open.  After a bit of rummaging, she managed to locate the little bottle of burn salve. She couldn’t be generous with it--the area of injury was too great to spread more than a light layer.  Darcy let out an appreciative rumble as she applied it to the affected area, the aloe-based concoction producing a cooling effect that helped to ease the pain. She covered it up in gauze to keep dirt and debris from getting inside the wound, then knelt by the riverside to wash her hands.

An elk was across the rapids, but Saskia’s armor blended in well with the terrain and it didn’t notice her while it drank.  Her stomach growled as she stared at it. Yet she had no way of withstanding the river’s current and enough sense to know that starting a fire would get her killed.  A hearty venison dinner would have to wait until she was back home, safe and sound.

A shadow passed over her head.  She made to unsheath her daggers, but stopped when she saw Darcy land directly atop the elk, killing it instantly.  He picked the carcass up in his jaws and forded the river again in one leap.

“Well, looks like you’re feeling better,” she said.

Darcy snorted and tucked into his meal.

Daylight was fading fast as Saskia began to jot down more notes for her report.  Dinner for her was a ration bar and a handful of almonds, enough to keep her going for a few more hours of recon.

“This whole war really is shit,” she grumbled around a mouthful of food.  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for destroying blight and saving the forest, but all this over a bunch of crystallized soul blood… stuff?  Horseshit.”

Darcy grunted, ripping off a large chunk of venison and gulping it down.

“We should be helping Azeroth heal, not seeing who can harvest more of her,” she continued.  “Azerite is… _stupidly_ powerful.  And of course the first thing these idiots do is see how they can destroy each other with it.”  A drawn-out sigh escaped her, and she tilted her head back to look up at the remnants of the sunset surrounding by a smattering of little stars.

“I was never really keen on seeing the end of the world.  You’d think that since we just defeated the goddamn Burning Legion that we’d have at least a couple years of downtime.  I’m not ready for another war, Darcy.  I think I’m gonna back out of contract with Anduin, just keep near him because he’s my brother.”  She snorted softly, face growing fond. “It seems like yesterday I was pulling him out of a swamp in the Jade Forest. Remember when you hit him with your tail and he fell off a cliff?”

Darcy blinked at her, rumbling.

Her face fell again.  “I think that, regardless of whether we’re active in this war, we’re gonna need to be prepared.  The Dreadblades are with Tethys now, like they should’ve been from the the start, but Azerite is big and scary and without those cutlasses, I’m considerably less so…  As much as I hate to go back there, I think it’s time we paid a visit to a certain someone, see what she can do for us.”

Darcy finished up the last of his meal and was licking up the blood from the grass.  Saskia went over to him, pressed into his side with her knees pulled up to her chest.  It was going to be a long night, with potential attackers lurking everywhere, watching, waiting.  Thankfully, she was a light sleeper.

*

Natalie had abandoned her fel-related research projects weeks ago in favor of more direct tutelage from Lady Jaina Proudmoore, one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth.  Not only was she benefiting from the archmage’s years of personal experience, but from her time spent with Magna Aegwynn, _the_ Guardian of Tirisfal, who had faced down Sargeras and lived for centuries, accumulating vast amount of knowledge that she had passed down to Jaina.  Double score!

Polymorph was quickly becoming her new favorite spell.  Dangerous animal? Sheep. Highwaymen? Sheep. Illegal artifact tradesmen, poachers, demons?  Sheep, sheep, and sheep. But there was so much more that she was learning. There existed more spells, charms, and magics in the world than she ever thought possible, and she was soaking it all up like a sponge.

Fingers covered in ink stains, she made her way down the spiral staircase of Jaina’s personal library, holding her notepad in one hand and pushing the door to the archmage’s study open with the other.  “I finished re-stitching those tomes together like you asked; is there anything else you need from me today?” she chirped. She and some of the other Kirin Tor apprentices were planning to get together for tea and gossip later that afternoon.

But she received no verbal response.  Furrowing her eyebrows, she stopped halfway to Jaina’s desk as the archmage rose from her chair and turned to face her.  She was shaking, her eyes filled with horror and sorrow, and it terrified Natalie more than anything.

“L-lady Jaina?” she asked.

The archmage slowly looked up from the missive.  “Teldrassil,” she whispered, “has been burned down.”

*

They had opened a portal to Stormwind Keep without hesitation.  Kirin Tor mages volunteered in droves to assist in any way they could, Alliance and Horde alike; the Horde mages had had to be turned away.

The keep itself was in chaos.  Natalie and Jaina fought their way through the crowds of soldiers and servants to the war room, where Anduin and another priest were kneeling beside a wounded night elf.  Malfurion, Natalie realized. And cradling the archdruid’s head in her lap was a visibly distraught Tyrande Whisperwind.

Jaina called to the king, who turned to her as she rushed over.  He looked panicked.

“Thank the Light you’re here.  Refugees are pouring into the Cathedral District; we need people to help maintain the portals,” he informed them.

“On it!” Jaina barked, already spinning around and running out the door.

Natalie paused for a moment, swallowing hard and she and Anduin met eyes.  Steeling herself, she nodded once, then followed her mentor.

All throughout the city soldiers were trying to keep civilians unable to help inside their homes.  It was easy enough for Natalie to catch up with Jaina, although she was keenly aware that she would need to conserve her energy.  Portals or no, mages would be in high demand today. She made sure to review her repertoire of frost spells as she ran.

Once inside the Cathedral Square, she almost lost her nerve and bolted.  All around, medical teams were setting up shop, triaging as many patients as quickly as possible.  Kaldorei civilians were holding the dead and the dying and wailing in unrestrained grief, fighting off anyone who tried to separate them and see to their own injuries.  Parents were sobbing over children, children were sobbing over parents… Natalie’s heart was rabbit-quick inside her chest.

“Over here!”

Her focus was ripped back towards her mentor, who was beckoning her over to one of the portals.  Instinct kicked in and she began to channel her mana into it, keeping it wide enough that ten people could fit through at once, but people weren’t the only thing coming through.  Natalie could smell smoke, thick and acrid, and felt the heat of the flames on her face. She could see them, too, blindingly bright despite the obscurity of the portal.

People clung to one another as they staggered into Stormwind, coughing and gagging with tears streaming down their soot-stained faces.  She tried to block them out, to pour all her attention into maintenance, so much so that she nearly missed Genn Greymane diving into the portal in his worgen form.

He emerged several minutes later, holding both his wife and a small night elf child.  He set them just out of the way and returned to his human form, calling to his wife and shaking her shoulders while the child was carried to the nearest medic by another refugee.

“Genn!  Is she alive?”

Natalie cast a quick glance at Anduin as he came galloping up on Reverence, his war horse.  He swung down from the saddle, staggering slightly as his right leg bore his weight too quickly, and knelt at Mia’s side.

“She’s not breathing.”  From Genn’s tone, he was on the verge of panic.

“Stay back,” Anduin ordered.

Her position meant that she could see him performing CPR on Mia Greymane, pausing every half minute or so to lean down and breathe for her.  After what seemed like an eternity, the queen of Gilneas began to cough, though she was still very weak. Anduin sent one of his guards to find an inhaler for her while he channeled the Light, brows furrowing as he sought to soothe her damaged lungs.

Sweat dripped down Natalie’s face while less and less people came into the city, until, at last, two of the Alliance’s champions, Broll Bearmantle and Sylendra Gladesong, limped through.

“Is that everyone?” Jaina asked.

Broll turned his head to look at her, then broke down sobbing.

Sylendra spoke instead.  “The priestesses…” she rasped.  “They’re staying behind. But yes, that’s everyone we could find.”

Jaina’s expression became grim, and she nodded.  “Alright.”  She ended her spell, and the rest of the mages followed suit.  

Natalie was the very last to do so, her heart clenching fearfully at the thought of not everyone having made it in time.  And the priestesses… it had always been painted as a heroic thing for the captain to go down with their ship.  No doubt their healing skills were sorely needed here, though.  She shoved the thought down to deal with later in favor of beating back the wave of exhaustion that suddenly overcame her.

Standing, Anduin took off his overcoat and draped it over Mia, handing the respirator to Genn.  “Make sure she’s hydrated, and encourage her to cough. We need to prevent as much fluid from building up in her lungs as we can.  But I can’t find any serious burns on her; you can take her back to the keep,” he informed the worgen.

“Thank you,” Genn rumbled.  Shifting back into worgen form, he scooped his wife up into his arms and walked away, accompanied by Anduin’s guards.

Natalie wasted no time in approaching her friend.  “How can I help?”

“We need water,” Anduin told her, “and lots of it.  Load up a cart with as many barrels as can fit. Take Reverence, he can pull it.”

Being a mage meant that she could summon great amounts of power, like that with which she powered the portal, but it was a greatly taxing process.  Luckily, she had learned to always keep drinks and snacks on her person, and she scarfed down several handfuls of dried fruit and nuts while leading Reverence to the nearest well.  City guards already stationed there were more than willing to assist her in filling the barrels and hefting them onto the cart, and even harnessed Reverence.  She hurried the gallant palomino back towards the Cathedral Square, and he trotted along obediently.

“Good on you, mage!” a gnome priest called to her.  He handed her a large bucket with a ladle. “The less severe cases are stationed inside the town hall.  Get them this, then report back.  It’s all hands on deck!”

“Right away, sir,” she said, doing her best not to slosh any liquid onto the ground as she carried the heavy bucket up the steps and into the building.  She didn’t even pause to see if they started drinking before she was back outside with her next task: to distribute medical supplies.

Gryphon riders were carrying in boxes from the barracks and the harbor below.  She used her magic to pry five or six of them open at once and sort their contents into distinct piles.  Those piles would then be divvied up and taken to different parts of the square, where they would be within easy reach for medics.  Supplies were being eaten up much faster than they were being flown in, however, and while she was waiting for more boxes, Natalie took it upon herself to make more water runs, giving herself and Reverence quite a workout.  Time became meaningless, her renewed fatigue the only indication that any great length had passed.

During another lull in the deliveries, she found another bucket and ladle and set about helping the injured drink.  She managed her warmest, most reassuring smile for them, saying whatever she could think of that would help comfort and distract as she slowly helped them rehydrate.

“D-did I do well?”

Natalie heart lurched at the quavering, barely-audible voice coming from behind her.  She turned around despite herself and saw Anduin sitting beside a soldier prone on a blood-stained mat.  Light, his burns… there was hardly an inch of pale violet skin that remained intact.

Holding the soldier’s hand, Anduin maintained a composed face.  “Yes,” he soothed. “I could not imagine a more valiant soldier.  Thank you, for your service.  You will forever be remembered as a hero of the Alliance.”

The man was dying.  It hit Natalie like a gut-punch and she watched, transfixed, as Anduin performed last rites for him.

“You have nothing to fear,” the king continued, “for you will be received with open arms by Elune.  No harm will come to your soul; the Light is benevolent, and knows only love.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” the soldier whispered.

Not even a minute later, Anduin bowed his head.  “Be at peace,” he intoned, and closed the elf’s eyes.

Her mouth was agape, lower lip trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks.  She stared at the soldier, waiting for his chest to rise.  It didn’t.  He was gone.  

Before she even registered his presence, Anduin was guiding her to her feet and away from the people, away from the body a city guard was covering with a sheet.  He pulled her into a hug and let her sob into his shoulder.  “I know,” he said.  “I know.”

“How can you be so _calm_?  We just watched someone die,” she cried, her voice muffled by his surgeon’s smock.

“I’m not; not really.  But I am good at faking it,” he admitted.

She had no response for that.

“Natalie, you’re exhausted,” he said softly.

“I can still help,” she insisted.

He shook his head.  “You look like you’re about to pass out.  Go to the keep, get some rest.  You’ve earned it ten times over.”

She pulled back and wiped her eyes, cursing.  “You come get me if you need help,” she muttered.

“I will.  Promise.”

Maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance Anduin had been right about Natalie being ready to pass out, as her knees buckled the moment she was away from the Cathedral Square and no longer running on adrenaline.  A guard jogged up to her, asking if she was okay, if she needed help getting home.  Taking a deep breath, she finally conceded to being walked home.  The burly guard extended his arm and she took it gratefully.

The journey back to the keep was arduous, but she knew that she had no reserves left to teleport there.  Her limbs were like lead and her eyes hurt from crying and she yawned every few moments, head too heavy to hold very high.  Thankfully, the guard was patient, and didn’t say a word.

She glanced in the war room as she limped by, noting Genn and Tyrande but not Malfurion or Mia.  The two were speaking in low voices that Natalie just didn’t give enough of a shit to try and make out. She thanked the guard “for the lift” once she reached her and Saskia’s room, and trudged inside, not quite understanding the importance of something to lean on.  The last thing she thought of was if she would break her nose face-planting on the floor.

*

It was well past three in the morning when Anduin finally limped through Stormwind Keep’s threshold.  Several of the Lion’s Guard approached and offered to help him back to his quarters, but he shook his head and dismissed them.  He must have been quite the sight, sweat-matted hair falling out of its tie and surgeon’s smock covered in drying blood and gore.

Genn and Shaw appeared from the map room, the former placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You know what has to be done,” the worgen said grimly.

By the Light, he did, and it was ripping him apart.  But in that moment, he was dead on his feet and only kept upright by the promise of sleep if he made it to his room.  He nodded once, slowly.

He shuffled a few steps towards the great oak doors leading to the inner sanctum before he turned his head and asked, “How’s Mia?”

“Alive, because of you.”  Genn’s eyes tightened. “You have my sincerest thanks.”

His valet looked startled when he saw him.  Wordlessly, he helped him out of the smock and guided him towards the bathroom, where a tub of hot water to wash up in was already waiting for him.  The gesture was appreciated, but he lacked the energy to do more than get into his sleep clothes and splash some cold water on his face.

Leaning on the countertop, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror.  Tears began welling up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks like a waterfall.  One sob, quickly followed by another, then another, wracked his slim, scarred frame.  How many people hadn’t made it through those portals?  How many people were still trapped in the burning husk of the World Tree, doomed to die alone?  How many would perish tonight, so very far away from home with their hearts in pieces?  He had held the hands of the dying as he recited their last rites and helped ease their death throes while all around him he heard the screams of deep-seated agony, of terror and trauma and misery.  How few he had managed to save, how many he had failed.

Horace had taken off on a gryphon earlier that afternoon to catch up with the Westfall caravan.  As selfish as it felt, Anduin wished that his partner was there beside him right then, for those strong arms and that steady voice to carry him through to morning.  When he was at last ready to curl up underneath the blankets, he had never felt smaller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1/13/19: changed chapter title from "Someone Else Been [Burning Your Tree]" to "Burning Down the House."  
> there's this weird uncanny valley of emotions running through me because i pretty much rewrote christie golden's "elegy" but gay and thoroughly combed through and edited for awkward sentence structure (sorry christie but i had to get up and walk around a few times reading elegy) but i sincerely pinkie swear promise that i had the outline for this chapter before i even finished outlining part 3 of ttrb. i have no access to christie golden's microsoft office documents.


	2. That's Too Much, Man!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saskia visits a freaky cave lady, Horace returns to Westfall, and nothing can ever go smoothly.

Saskia had been fortunate enough to arrive in Northrend during one of the few times of year with a normal day/night cycle.  Darcy was, understandably, not pleased to be back at Jotunheim. The dark, cold, Scourge-infested land was no place for the living, but there was one of the dead Saskia knew could help her.

It had been three days since she saw Teldrassil burn.  Her proto-drake had awoken her, hissing and snarling at what she had first assumed to be an attacker.  But Darcy would never have hesitated for so long to eat someone attempting to hurt his rider. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she ambled to her feet to see what was upsetting him…

… And screamed.  Her hands held her head as she fell to her knees, curling in on herself and trying to breath through the tightness in her chest and the shrieks forcing their way out of her throat.  Visions flashed through her mind: her home was burning, her brother dragging her away with a hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her wailing so she wouldn’t get them all killed. The nauseating scent of her burned flesh, the blood-stained snow, the hollow, empty chill of winter.

She placed the tribute in front of the Bone Witch’s lair and waited for the barrier to fizzle out.

“Enter…” came a rasping, crackling voice.

Saskia did, dagger at the ready.  Despite being saronite, the blade was one of her most prized possessions.  Its deadliness and balance were unparalleled by the rest of her collection, and it never needed maintenance.  It had been a gift, albeit from a terrible source.

The witch looked even worse than before.  Saskia suppressed a grimace as she beheld skin so shriveled it may as well have been leather, those eyeless sockets peering into her very soul.  The frigid climate had completely mummified the undead woman.

“You want more stones?”  Her lifeless mouth hardly moved when she spoke, and Saskia realized that she was levitating instead of walking.

“I was thinking of something a little more permanent, actually,” Saskia explained.  “Can you enchant weapons?”

“Yes.”  The fire sprang to life, illuminating the cavern, and the mummification became all the more noticeable.  Still, the Bone Witch loomed over her; her lower jaw was askew, her mouth permanently open. Her tongue was like a piece of charred wood.

“Is my tribute enough for two daggers?” she asked warily.

“No…” the witch hissed.

Saskia swallowed hard.  “I-I can get you a better one,” she began, taking a step back towards the entrance.

“No…” she said again.

Horrible dread clutched at her chest.  Not managing much more than a whisper, she asked, “What do you want?”

“We want…  _ flesh _ .”

“I can bring you Ymirjar--”

“ _ No _ !”

Saskia felt her skin crawl as the Bone Witch brushed two fingers across her cheek.  They were cold, cold as the grave, and reeked of rot. She found herself frozen in place.

“Your body… such life… such youth.  A proper host for us…”

Fear choked her as the witch’s jaw dropped to the ground.  From her foul mouth came a fog, thick and white, and it whispered to her.  She shook her head, trying to shut out the voices as they begged for her body, to writhe around in her soul, to make her one of them.

In her hand was the dagger.  She shrieked in terror and plunged it into the Bone Witch’s heart.  The cavern lit up with the saronite’s glow, the whole world shaking.  Saskia tried to breath but there was no air for her to take, the witch’s screams mingling with her own heartbeat until it was all she heard, then it was swallowed by the darkness.

*

Her cheek was cold, and something was pressing down on her.  Snow, she was lying in snow, and Darcy was huddled over her to keep her from freezing to death.   _ What a good boy _ , she thought.

She pat his tummy to let him know she was awake.  “Thanks, buddy,” she said, lurching upright.

Darcy rumbled and nudged her with his wing claw.

_ YOU DID THIS TO US. _

What is the seven hells…?  Her head swivelled around in search of the voice’s owner.

_ OVER HERE, IDIOT. _

Saskia’s gaze fell to her saronite dagger lying near the entrance to the Bone Witch’s lair.  “Uh oh.”

_ YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OUR HOST _ .

Her bedroll served as a temporary sheath for the blade until she could find one that would muffle the voices better.  This was… well, it wasn’t good, far from it, but it sounded like a problem she could involve Natalie in.

“I think it’s time we head back to Stormwind, yeah?”  Chuckling at his hearty agreement, she fished an azure portal stone out of her pocket and put a hand on him.

When her vision swam back into focus, she and Darcy were standing outside of Stormwind Keep.  And, oddly enough, in the midst of several hundred soldiers currently being addressed by a man in some very stylish blue and gold armor.  People turned to look at her in surprise, and the man’s speech stuttered to a halt.

Saskia pulled out the dagger and dismissed the proto-drake, tossing a half-assed apology over her shoulder as she raced up the keep steps.  She found Anduin with his advisors in the map room, but no Natalie. He looked shocked to see her. Feeling a pang of guilt, she made another apology before dashing off to the library.

Thank the gods, her partner was there.  Natalie’s jaw dropped when she looked up from her book, then she was on her feet and pulling Saskia into a tight embrace.

“Light, where did you  _ go _ ?  I tried scrying for you in Darkshore but you weren’t there, I was so worried you had--”  She cut herself off, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Did you see Teldrassil?” she asked softly.

Saskia nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath.  “Yeah. I saw Teldrassil.”

Silence descended between them.  The two women clung to one another, drinking in each other’s presence as the weight of the past three days hung over their heads.

“I’m sorry I worried you.  After the--the fire, I went to Northrend,” Saskia explained.  “I was hoping to just get a replacement for the Dreadblades and get out, but something went wrong.”

She let go of Natalie and slowly unrolled her bedroll to reveal the dagger.

_ WE’RE GOING TO DRAG YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL, PIPSQUEAK. _

“I accidentally transferred the souls of a very old and very powerful vrykul witch into a saronite dagger.”

Natalie clasped her hands together as if in prayer, taking a deep breath before levelling them in her partner’s direction.  “Saskia.”

She felt like a dog who just got caught destroying a shoe.  “Babe.”

“Do you realize how bad this is?”  Her right eye was twitching.

“Yes.”

“Do you realize how bad carrying around a saronite dagger is for your mind?”

“Vaguely.”

“Perfect.  Let’s start experimenting.”

*

In his younger years, he and his family had made more frequent trips to Sentinel Hill, although he didn’t understand why his parents would always leave so frustrated.  Then it had become too unsafe with the increased threat of Defias attacks the instant they stepped beyond the boundaries of their smoldering cornfields. Horace realized, years later, that Emma and Feng had been petitioning the Stormwind militia for aid in defending their crops from rampant arsonists.  They had been denied each and every time they tried.

The caravan ambled through parched prairie towards the stone walls of the stronghold and managed to hit every single gopher hole in its path.  Horace winced at all of them, channelling a little Light as he rubbed his sore abdomen. He had resigned himself to the fact that such extensive injuries would take time to heal, but it was hard not to wish that the process would take a little less time.  Already his hands itched to break ground on the new projects.

A guard, perched precariously on the crumbling ramparts, called for them to halt just outside Sentinel Hill.  He hopped down from his wagon with papers in hand to meet two more armed men on the ground.

“Has the 7th Legion arrived yet?” he asked, tilting his head to peer past their shiny helmets.

Without looking up from the papers, one of the guards answered, “The 7th Legion?”

It was a concerning statement, but Horace brushed it off.  They were probably just running late. “They’re part of our revitalization crew,” he explained.  “There’s twenty of them coming sometime today.”

The guard nodded.  “Alright, everything checks out.  Proceed inside and set up where there’s room.  You’re welcome to use the empty barracks.”

“My thanks.”  He flashed a smile before turning and waving to the rest of the caravan.  It was hard to ignore the sound of one of the homeless spitting in their direction.  He frowned uneasily, watching them scowl and mutter amongst one another. Yet he knew they would feel different when the ball got rolling.  They just had to see all the good that was going to come of this. Taking heart in the thought, he entered Sentinel Hill.

It was… a shithole.  There was no other way to put it.  Everything was shit. What wasn’t destroyed by the Legion during their invasion had been brutally sacked by the elements, leaving most things in ruins.  The top half of the stronghold’s tower was missing. The heavy artillery had rusted into disuse. The wood was rotten and unsteady. After doing a quick headcount, he came up with fifteen Stormwind soldiers.

Stormcaller Mylra, another veteran of Argus, had volunteered to help cleanse the land of the Legion’s taint.  She turned to him now, one hand on her hip and the other scratching the back of her neck. “Well,” she said, “at least we won’t get bored.”

He replied with a long, uncertain, “Yeah…”

The only available spot ended up being on the far side on Sentinel Hill, where a large gap in the wall allowed for a view of distant Moonbrook.  Horace stepped up to heft a supply crate off of one of the wagons. Luckily, there was another person there to help set it down, because the instant he engaged his muscles, he felt a searing pain shoot through his body.  He gasped out a curse and doubled over, leaning against the wagon’s side for support.

“You can’t expect your body to be capable of handling that much strain yet,” one of the draenei shaman chided him.  They pulled out a totem, and a wave of cool, soothing energy washed through him. “Leave the heavy lifting to others for now.”

He straightened, thanking them for the help and taking a deep breath.  He missed the muscles that had allowed him to deadlift the Ranger General of Silvermoon.  But he didn’t want to render himself useless on the first day, so he went about unboxing and organizing supplies and trying to remain optimistic that the 7th Legion would get here soon.  Maybe it was better that they were running late, so that they didn’t have to wait for everyone else to get set up. He figured that they were busy people.

People who did show up, however, were his parents and a few vagrants working for the Saldeans.  He embraced his mother readily, shaking hands with the workers as they introduced themselves.

“We brought some surplus crops with us; I remember you said that you were expecting a lot of company.”  Emma Lin gestured to the small cart being pulled by their cow, Missy.

He scratched the beast’s head.  “Not sure  _ when _ , exactly, but it can’t hurt to start prepping food.”

“Let’s hope they like Westfall stew.”

In the stronghold’s barracks was a small larder that contained a spices, herbs, and the largest cast-iron skillet he had ever witnessed.  It needed a good cleaning, but he could handle that. He pulled up a chair in the shade outside and started scrubbing, swirling the soap around the inside and trying not to let it land on his foot when he tipped it over to empty the dirty water; a few good rinses, and it looked almost new.

There was a well that he used for water, working under his mother’s guidance to measure out ingredients and pour--not dump,  _ pour _ \--them into the boiling water.  The Saldean’s workers had gone off to gather up enough meat to feed over a hundred people.  His sisters did their fair share as well, and cleaned the meat, a mixture of rabbit, boar, and coyote, when it arrived late that afternoon.  All the while, Horace kept an eye out for any sign of the 7th Legion’s arrival.

The cauldron, filled to the brim with heavenly-smelling Westfall stew, was far too heavy to carry outside and distribute, so Maggie went outside to ring a cowbell and bring the people to them.  Horace had also washed the dust-covered bowls and cutlery that had been left in the larder. The hands that now ladled out portion after portion of stew were now thoroughly pruned, but at least he smelled clean.

It was hard to say the same about the homeless camped outside Sentinel Hill.  He approached them with a smile that they met with glares. “There’s food enough for all of you inside,” he told them.

“Great.  One night of charity.  This count as your good deed of the year, my lord?” one of them grumbled, gesturing to his clothes.

Well, yeah, compared to most people from Westfall, he was definitely over-dressed, but that was just because they were new clothes.  He had no control over what Saskia filched for him. Thankfully, he was very well-versed in the art of diplomacy. “Look, we’re staying here whether you want us or not.  So you can either take the free meal, and all the ones that’ll follow it, or you can piss off.” He shrugged. “Completely up to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hungry.”

They followed him back to the barracks.  They even said their pleases and thank yous.  Once they settled down outside, Horace seized the opportunity to approach them again.

He clasped his hands together.  “So, since we’ve roped you in with my mom’s cooking, I have a proposition.”

They eyed him warily.  “Suppose we should hear you out,” the same person muttered.

“I’m leading the Westfall Revitalization Project.  We have the funding, but we need the manpower. It’s an honest job at a fair wage, and you’ll get a roof over your head that you built yourself,” he explained.

There was a pause.  Then, “Do we get more stew?”

He couldn’t help but grin, folding his arms across his chest and nodding.  “Every day.”

The gathered homeless nearly leaped out of their skin when a bell was rung.  Horace sprang into action the moment he heard the warning of incoming attack, instinctively reaching for his sword and shield.  He balked to find that they weren’t there; his armor wasn’t even on. His head swivelled around as he searched for  _ something _ to use as a weapon.

“Get inside!” he told the homeless.  “I’ll protect you!”

They wasted no time in gathering up their food and scrambling inside.  His gaze finally landed on a rusty sickle propped up just inside the barn.  He raced over and picked it up, not seeing a shield anywhere but choosing to forgo searching in favor of getting to battle faster.

The familiar snarls and yowls of gnolls made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  He gripped the sickle tighter and urged his legs to carry him faster. He nearly got there when a hand on his arm yanked him back.

Mylra refused to let go when he tried to free himself, her grip like iron.  “No!” she said. “You need to stay back and protect the civilians.”

Adrenaline was coursing through his blood.  “I need to fight, I need to  _ help _ ,” he protested, heart pounding, but she shook her head.

“You are not a commanding officer; I am.  And I’m ordering you to go back and guard the barracks.  No one gets in or out until I say so,” she declared.

He opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to form another protest, looking from her to the battle and back to her.

Something flashed across her eyes, and she became sympathetic.  “I know you feel obligated, laddie. We’ll talk more once this is taken care of.  But for now you have orders,” she insisted.

So he went back and waited.  And waited. And watched the fight as best he could through the harsh glare of sunset, all the while feeling like a too-tight spring.  Even when he heard cheers he couldn’t make himself unwind. Once Mylra gave him the signal, he slumped, letting his makeshift weapon fall to the ground.

“It’s safe, now, you can come out,” he called into the barracks, clearing his throat when his voice came out thick with emotion.

Slowly, hesitantly, people began to emerge.  He breathed deep and made to go back into the barracks to check on his mom and sisters when Mylra once again signalled for him.  Picking up his scythe--he really needed to get some new armor--he jogged over towards the shaman and the rest of the crew.

“Guards are reporting the approach of a hostile party,” she told him lowly.  “Said they’re called ‘Defias’.”

A group that he was all too familiar with.  He squinted and, sure enough, he could make out the shapes of horses and riders headed towards Sentinel Hill.  “Defias? I thought Stormwind took care of those bastards.”

“I don’t even know who those bastards are, but I guess not.  Should we prepare for another fight?”

“We definitely outnumber them, but just in case…”  He hefted his sickle in one hand and started walking towards the gap in the ramparts.  Mylra nodded and fell in beside him, totems at the ready.

There were ten of them altogether, each one except for their leader garbed in dark leathers and bandanas.  She wore a mostly scarlet ensemble that featured a tabard with the infamous Brotherhood insignia and looked vaguely familiar, but Horace couldn’t figure out where he knew her from.  Was she on Argus?

“My scouts reported a large caravan heading here; did Wrynn-Tin-Tin sense more trouble in the old mines?” she said, and her lilting, haughty voice, combined with self-assured posturing, flipped a switch of recognition in Horace’s brain.

He made his way to the front of the gathered crowd, scythe lowered.  “Hope? Hope Saldean?” he called.

She quirked an eyebrow at him.  “No?” she replied slowly.

“Yes?  We grew up together; I’m Emma and Feng’s son,” he insisted.

Her expression was equal parts bemused and puzzled while she looked him up and down, then a smirk grew on her face.  “Oh, right, you were the one who went off to become a paladin. Well, welcome back. I’ve started going by Vanessa VanCleef again, a fact someone clearly neglected to tell you.  I’m sure you can hear all about my ascension to Defias kingpin and subsequent failed coup if you ask nicely.”

He  _ would _ ask nicely, because that was a story he definitely needed to hear.  “Wow, I really need to pay more attention,” he said, and she laughed.

“No kidding.  But back to my original question: why are you here?” she asked, all business once more.

“The Westfall Revitalization Project.  We’re here on behalf of Stormwind to rebuild the area,” he explained, feeling a little surge of pride at the statement.

“Don’t make me laugh!  You seriously expect me to believe that someone in Stormwind gives a shit about us?”

Her words shocked him into silence.  When he recovered his thoughts, he retorted, “Yes, I do expect you to believe, because the proof is right in front of you.”  Why was she like this? The Hope, or Vanessa, rather, he had known was cooperative with Stormwind forces in her efforts to help the homeless.  There was clearly a lot of information that was not communicated to him while he had been away.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you can  _ never _ trust a Wrynn.  They will always find a way to screw you over,” she sneered.  “Or cut your head off.”

He was about to deny her claims again when a hand came to rest on his shoulder.  A human soldier handed a letter to him with furrowed brows.  _ This can’t be good _ , he thought to himself, and looked at the seal.  It was the 7th Legion’s. Several emotions ran their course, chief amongst them being anger.  He passed the letter off to Mylra. She made a frustrated noise, but nevertheless turned and began shouting orders to the Stormwind forces gathered.

Vanessa folded her arms across her chest and gave him a pointed look that he deliberately ignored.  The letter wasn’t signed by Anduin himself, it had been written by Halford Wyrmbane, leader of the 7th Legion.  And even though there was a sinking feeling settling in his gut, he wanted to make sure that his partner had been oblivious to it all.

Before he could make preparations to go see for himself, Mylra pulled him aside.  “I know we’re all supposed to leave, but I’ve asked a few shamans and druids of lower ranks to stay behind.  It’s not much--our plans are certainly delayed--but it’s all we can do for the time being.”

“No, it’s fine, I understand.  I’m still going to go to Stormwind and get the full picture.  Anduin gave his word that this would happen,” he said, trying not to let his negativity show.

“Alright, laddie.  And about what happened earlier: it’s called shell-shock.  While your in the city, you should ask someone about it. Get help before it gets bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, but she was already walking away before he could ask her about it.  Shrugging, he turned on heel and made his way to the gryphon roost. He was dead tired from the full day of travel, but he needed answers as soon as possible.  Who knew what Vanessa would get up to in the interim.

*

The bell had just tolled one o’clock in the morning when Horace landed his gryphon outside Stormwind Keep.  Passing the reins off to a stable hand, he took a moment to unscramble the mess in his brain and down some water before heading into the imposing stone structure.  He had spent the entire flight going over what he would say, all the rebuttals to different arguments he might come across. It wasn’t enough to prepare him for walking into the map room that contained not just Anduin, but every single one of his advisors, the most prominent military commanders of the Alliance, faction leaders, and champions.  Each one of them turned their weary, frustrated stares to him as he entered, and he froze in his tracks.

He could tell his partner knew what he was here for from the instant their eyes met, and stayed silent, merely holding his ground.  Anduin, just as dead-eyed and somber as those surrounding him, hastily excused himself and used his crutch to limp out of the room. Glad to be away from the others, Horace followed.

They stopped in the enclosed passageway running parallel to the garden.  Anduin looked around for any obvious eavesdroppers, then said, “I know I broke my promise to you.  Hear me out.”

“You said ‘come hell or high water,’ right?  What--”

“This was worse than hell,” he insisted, and his voice quaked ever so slightly.  “The Horde burned Teldrassil to the ground.”

His jaw dropped almost to the ground.  “Light, no…” he rasped.

Anduin nodded.  “We’re at war. Again.”  He swallowed hard. “The Alliance is sailing for the Arathi Highlands at dawn.”

Horace was stunned.  When he finally found his voice again, he stated, “And you’re going with them.”

“Yes.”

Taking a step forward, he closed the gap between them, pressing his head into the crevice of Anduin’s neck and wrapping his arms tightly around him.  The gesture was reciprocated, and he heard him murmur, “I’m so sorry. If I make it back--”

“Don’t talk like that,” Horace growled.

“It’s always a possibility.  I… Light forgive me, I’m so scared.”  His shoulders slumped, eyes misting over.  “I’ll fight to make our original plan happen,” he finished.

The future was grim.  Even with all his protection, there was no way to know if Anduin would survive.  There was no way to know if their plans for Westfall would come to fruition. There was just this present moment that they could count on.  It shook Horace to his core. Looking into those bright blue eyes, he saw a silent plea for something,  _ anything _ , to break the deafening silence.  So he did the first thing that came to mind: he took Anduin’s face in his hands and kissed him.  And kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, then pressed him up against the wall and kissed him some more.

Breathlessly, Anduin whispered against Horace’s lips, “Now I really don’t want to go.”

When Horace again pressed his lips to his partner’s, he was slow, gentle, trying to extend the moment as much as he could.  Eventually, however, they were forced to break apart. “You better come back safe,” he rumbled, knocking their foreheads together.

“For you, I’ll try,” Anduin murmured.  “And I’ll find another way to help Westfall.  War or no war.”

He rocked back on his heels and sighed, letting his partner begin to walk back to the map room.  “I’m holding you to that.”

Anduin paused at the throne room’s entrance to look back one last time.  Horace nodded once, and he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vanessa vancleef is so powerful and i love her.


	3. Minecraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Siege of Lordaeron underway, Natalie does some personal reconnaissance, and Horace spends some time catching up on all that he missed while he was away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This was a home once / Can I say something to change your mind? / This was a home once / All these years go by and I've been blind_ \- Bad Suns, "This Was a Home Once"

Anduin Wrynn had dealt with enough panic attacks to know when he was experiencing one.  In his cabin on the Alliance’s flagship, he ran through his mental toolkit to try and calm down, but nothing was working.  He looked at his hands; they shook uncontrollably. Sighing in frustration, he finally admitted to himself that holing up alone down here wasn’t doing him any good.  So he grabbed his crutch and made his way topside for some air.

At such a late hour, he hardly expected anyone except the navigator to be awake, but there were two others: Genn Greymane and Mathias Shaw.  They stood at the starboard bow, gazing out at the inky darkness and speaking quietly. The sound of Anduin’s crutch tapping against the wooden deck alerted them to his presence, and they fell silent, turning to face him.

“You should get some shut-eye while you still have the chance,” Shaw advised.  “The only people sleeping soundly on a battlefield are the dead.”

“I tried.  There’s too much to think about,” he replied, keeping his voice low.

Shaw nodded.  “Understandable.  We all get jittery before our first battle.”

Genn echoed the sentiment.  “The fear of death far from home is real, but one we must all put aside for the greater good,” he added.

Being about a month shy of nineteen, Anduin should probably have been so distressed for that reason, but he wasn’t.  Staring out at the sea, he admitted, “I haven’t been afraid to die for quite some time.”

“Something we noticed during your stint in Pandaria,” Shaw remarked.  “What troubles you then?”

He swallowed hard, taking a long, deep breath.  “Others will die--from my orders, and my blade.”

Both their faces softened in understanding.  They knew more than most the weight of words.  People lived by the decisions they made just as easily as they died.  And no matter what Anduin said during this campaign, there would be a casualty report.  He cleared his throat against the bile creeping up it, more than his hands shaking now.

In the distance, he could see the outline of Stromgarde Keep.

*

Jaina had flat-out forbidden Natalie from being anywhere near Lordaeron during the fighting.  Thus, she had decided to take a little break from her current studies and take a trip to Dalaran for different books to study.  It was nice to have variety in her daily brain tornado. Plus she would have the opportunity to visit her parents, one that she readily took once she had her loaners in hand.

Just as she was at the library door, however, she was stopped by a familiar voice calling her name.  “Archmage Lyrius,” she greeted warmly.

The archivist beamed as they approached.  “I trust your studies are going well.”

“ _ Amazingly _ well,” she chirped.  “But I do miss studying under you.”

“No need to flatter me; I’m very happy for you to have the opportunity.  Although your new mentor’s regression from society is concerning, politically and otherwise…  Are you still able to visit your friends regularly? Do you have enough contact with the outside world?” they wondered.

She nodded.  “I’m kept plenty busy, but yes, I get out often enough.  I’ll be starting my thesis project soon.”

“Excellent.  I’m sure you’re working as hard as ever, but remember to take care of yourself.  And I look forward to reading your thesis. No doubt you will have something to rock the very foundations of academia.”

Chest swelling with pride, Natalie bid farewell to Lyrius for the time being and made her way to the edge of the newly-renamed Greyfang Enclave, where her family’s condominium was perched overlooking the rest of the floating city.

Her mother, Amelie, and father, David, hugged her tightly and kissed her head, offering her a cup of tea as the three of them sat in the parlor.  Natalie felt her heart melting as she sipped the familiar minty brew. Light, how she missed afternoon tea with her family. “How are things with the Explorer’s League?” she asked.

Her mother frowned.  “Nothing has been easy since the incident in Silithus,” she lamented.  “We’ve had to withdraw entirely from the region because of the conflict.  Many of our excavations have been taken over.”

“The Horde wouldn’t destroy areas of such historical value though, right?” Natalie pressed.  She had several goblin friends; they would never do something like that.

“The Horde and Alliance,” her father explained.

Natalie’s eyebrows rose.  “But there are treaties, ordinances.  That land is protected,” she insisted.

“Everyone seems to have conveniently forgotten about that in the wake of the incident.  If there’s even a spec of Azerite to be found, people leaping at the chance to get their hands on some will not be far behind.  Even if it means our work is destroyed in the process,” he told her.

Azerite…  That must be the new substance generated from Sargeras’s blow to the world.  It made her heartsick to think that everyone’s minds seemed to be on profit instead of restoration.  “Well, I can’t do much about the Horde, but I want to petition the Alliance to stop the destruction of historical artifacts.  It’s barbaric.”

Her parents looked at one another, then back at her.  “We know you want to help, and we love your passion--” her mother began.

“But you think that it’s a hopeless cause,” Natalie finished.  It was difficult not to feel crestfallen.

“History is always going to be a casualty of war,” Amelie said sadly.

And yet, true to her nature, Natalie refused to accept that.

A little while later, she had time after leaving her family’s home to amble around the city.  She couldn’t get the news about Azerite out of her mind; it was ineffable to her how people could want to purposely ruin history for profit.  No amount of money was worth that kind of loss. She made her way past the Violet Citadel and Krasus Landing and was just coming up on Sunreaver’s--no, it was Windrunner’s now--Sanctum when she quickened her pace.

A Forsaken was pressed up against the outer wall of the Sanctum, sobbing.  As Natalie approached, she could see ichor oozing out from a wound in the woman’s side.  She started when Natalie put a hand on her shoulder, but those dull golden eyes went from fearful to miserable once again, and she continued crying.

“Light, what happened to you?” Natalie asked.  She knelt and helped the woman to her feet. “Here, let me take you to the hospital.”

But the woman was too distraught and ended up falling to her knees once again, clutching at her withered head and rocking back and forth.  “Brill has fallen,” she rattled. “They took my baby; they took my daughter!”

Natalie was horrified.   _ The Alliance _ , she realized.  “I-it’s going to be okay,” she tried to assure her, but she was completely inconsolable.  She looked around and was relieved to see two Kirin Tor guards hurrying over to help.

“They took my daughter from me, and now they’re taking my home!  I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t burn the tree!” she wailed.  “ _ I didn’t burn the tree! _ ”

*

The few druids and shamans who remained set to work calming down the massive cyclones that rose up as a result of the Cataclysm.  Horace watched from a distance as they ducked and dodged the smaller ones sprouting off and attacking them. The Light wasn’t much for tackling elemental problems, but luckily there was plenty of other work to keep him busy.

A portion of their funding had been used to commission Stormwind’s tailors for cloth.   _ Lots _ of cloth.  Several thousand gold’s worth.  The homeless, in addition to receiving jobs, needed all of the basic necessities: food, water, shelter, clothing, and medical care.  Those who were a little less malnourished were given the more physically challenging tasks, like hunting and assisting the druids and shamans in their arduous work.  The rest, including Horace, were relegated to sewing under the supervision of his mother.

He was decent with a needle, enough to mend a tear or sew on a patch in a pinch, but nothing compared to Emma Lin.  He shook his hand, sucking on the pad of his thumb as he once again speared himself with the needle’s point. It was necessary, but incredibly tedious work, and he had long since stopped keeping track of how often he jabbed his thumb instead of the fabric.

“Come see me if you want your initials embroidered!” Emma announced to the group.  She was quickly surrounded by people shoving their half-made garments at her, but took it all in stride, laughing lightly.

“Once we’ve all finished our shirts and dresses, I should teach them how to do it themselves,” she remarked to her son.  “It’s nice to wear something with little personal touches.”

“That would be great, mom,” he told her.

The dull taps of leather boots on the hard earth brought his attention to the approaching Hope--no, it was Vanessa, he had to keep reminding himself of that.  He squinted up at her. “Yes?”

“Come with me; I want to show you something,” she declared.

Curiosity piqued, he handed the shirt off to Izzy and stood.  With a smirk, Vanessa spun on her heel and walked back towards her waiting horse.  She undid the knot on her saddle keeping another horse attached, looping it over its neck and gesturing for him to mount up.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Moonbrook.”

He shrugged and hauled himself into the saddle.  Vanessa encouraged her horse into a trot. Naturally, Horace’s steed followed, and he let out a cry of pain, yanking on the reins and doubling over.

“What are you doing?” she drawled, circling back to him.

He took deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, and called upon the Light.  His muscles uncoiled and the pain ebbed, but he was still left tired. He puffed out a breath and rested his forehead against the horse’s neck.

Vanessa leaned onto the saddle horn and stared at him with furrowed brows.  “Hey, are you okay?” She actually sounded concerned.

“Killer demon golem tried to gut me like a fish,” he groaned.

“Oh.”  She sat back in her seat, hands in her pockets.  “Um, do you need to go back?”

Probably.  He let go of his hold on the Light and straightened, giving her a toothless but reassuring smile.  “I’m good.”

This time, she only got her horse up to a walk.

At their pace, they would make it to Moonbrook in a shade under an hour.  With nothing else to do, he decided to strike up a conversation. “So… your dad was Edwin Vancleef,” he noted.

“Yep.”

Silence immediately descended between them while he attempted to think of some sort of response to that.  To say that Westfall had been divided over Edwin Vancleef’s assassination was an understatement.

After a time, he stopped fidgeting with the reins.  “Can you tell me what happened with you and the Defias while I was gone?”

“Nope.”

“Hey, I asked nicely,” he replied with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes.  “I suppose you did. Very well.  You’re aware of what became of my father?”

He nodded.

“I was young when he was murdered, but I still recognized how injust it was.  My experiences growing up only affirmed that. Westfall isn’t in this state because of its people not trying hard enough; it’s because of the Alliance’s beloved Wrynn family and their wealthy goons refusing to be held accountable for their failures.  Towards the Stonemasons Guild, towards the farmers, and towards the countless soldiers left homeless and destitute after sacrificing everything to military service during the Scourge War. I’m sure you remember me leaving frequently for Sentinel Hill when we were around fourteen.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Did you not go to help feed the homeless?”

“Oh, no, I did plenty of that.  But in showing people simple kindness, in recognizing their worth as people, when I sent out the call, they answered in droves.”

She turned to look at him.  “Our coup, as you know, failed.  At fifteen I faked my own death and spent the next few years laying low, continuing my work to better the lives of Westfall’s forgotten.  I joined a secret order called The Uncrowned, hoping that they, too, would be able to lend me aid once I proved myself.”

“I have a friend who does some stuff with them.  You know Saskia Rastout?” he offered.

She curled her lip.  “Ugh, her? She just waltzed on in and took a spot on the council without even doing anything to deserve it.”

He quirked his mouth to the side.  “If we’re gonna work together, I’m going to have to ask you to stop harping on my friends,” he informed her.

“I’m only telling you obvious facts,” she replied primly.  “She only got in because Silas Darkmoon wanted someone to keep an eye on things there.”

“Darkmoon… like the faire?”

“Yeesh, you really do need to pay more attention.”  Glancing over her shoulder, she peered around at the brittle vegetation.  Once satisfied, she muttered, “Silas Darkmoon isn’t someone you mess with unless you have a death wish.  He has eyes and ears everywhere, and they’re  _ good _ .  Scary good.  And no one knows why.”

“That’s definitely not unsettling,” he stated sarcastically.

“Or something that you should speak of.  You’ll either look crazy or attract their attention,” she replied.

Their arrival in Moonbrook did not go unnoticed.  The homeless and displaced lounging on the porches of decrepit old buildings gave hearty hellos to Vanessa, which she readily returned.  It didn’t escape Horace how she made sure to use everyone’s names when she addressed them. She recognized each shabby pickpocket and sun-scorched vagrant as individuals, just like she had said.  It was a simple gesture, but judging by the way they reacted, it meant so much.

Like in Sentinel Hill, the state of Moonbrook’s residents reflected the state of the town itself.  Horace wasn’t very knowledgeable when it came to carpentry, but he doubted that any of the wood was salvageable.  The termites skittering in and out of the little holes in the support beams only reinforced that belief.

The one building that  _ was _ in decent condition backed up to the Dagger Hills.  If his memory served him correctly, it was the entrance to the Deadmines.  The two dismounted near the entrance and hitched their horses near a water trough.  There was a door on the side that Vanessa lead him through, guarded by two hulking men disguised with red bandanas.  They inclined their heads in respect as she passed by.

The interior was spacious but poorly lit.  Horace blinked and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the drastic change in brightness.  Vanessa, meanwhile, was in the process of greeting more people, only these ones were all sporting the same red bandanas.  He counted at least sixty or seventy in total. These couldn’t  _ all _ be Defias… could they?  There was no way the authorities would let this slide.  Again.

“Miss Vancleef, your guests are waiting at the bar,” one leather-clad rogue informed her quietly.

“Excellent.  Thank you, Joe.”  Striding over, she spread her arms out wide and raised her voice.  “Gentlemen!” she drawled. “So sorry to keep you waiting. I had an old friend I wanted to bring along.”

At the bar pressed up against the back wall were two goblins.  They grinned at her, the one on the left tipping his garish yellow hard hat in her direction.

“Baron Revilgaz sends his regards,” he intoned.

“How very kind of him.  Are we still in agreement over your services?” she wondered, fishing out a few silver to pay the barkeep with.

They both nodded.  “Now, if you would be so kind as to show us the goods,” the one on the right prompted.

“Of course.  Please, right this way.”  She beckoned for all three to follow her up the stairs.

Horace caught up to her and leaned in, whispering, “What goods?”

Vanessa tapped her nose with a finger.  “Watch, listen, and learn. I’m going to show you what’ll  _ really _ revitalize Westfall.”

From the top of the stairs, the path turned to dirt and went down.  And down. And down. They were in the mines proper by now, with the only source of light being lanterns strung up on support beams.  It was cold but still stuffy, with not much in the way of fresh air making it down this far. His shoulders tensed despite knowing that Vanessa was not out to harm him.  His gaze darted too and fro as he tried to find the eyes that were making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, to no avail. Whoever else was down here was good at hiding.

“Now, I feel that I should warn you fine gentlemen: we made sure to take care of the undead problem before you got here, but they do have an obnoxious habit of coming back to life.  Guards are stationed in key locations for your protection, and I’ve worked a liability clause into the contract; feel free to look it over at your discretion,” Vanessa informed them, beckoning a group of helmeted workmen to follow along.

“You shoulda told them the Scourge War is over,” the left goblin joked, eliciting a laugh from her.

It felt strange to think that he was watching someone he had previously known to be shy and compassionate shmooze people technically of an opposing faction.  Granted, people changed, but Horace just never thought that all that much happened while he had been away. Westfall had always been so… sleepy. Or maybe he hadn’t been looking close enough.  Either way, his stomach was starting to sink the more apparent it became to him that he was getting pulled into something big. If he was lucky, there wouldn’t be any demons this time.

Vanessa spent the ten minute walk chatting up her guests, asking after the health and wealth of Baron Revilgaz.  He would have to ask her who that was once they were done here. Then he caught sight of what it was she had brought him along to witness, and his jaw dropped.

Gesturing with a flourish of her hand, Vanessa proudly announced, “Gentlemen, I give you… the Deadmines’ newest yield: Azerite.”

Anduin had shown him a small piece of the lustrous blue and gold substance several months ago, confiding in him how simultaneously enrapturing and petrifying even a tiny amount was, and let him hold it for himself.  It had been that and more, so much so that he had forgotten to breathe until his partner had began to fan him worriedly. He knew then and he knew it now: Azerite was bad for peace. He tried to meet Vanessa’s gaze, but she was too busy preening.

“This is only the first vein, of course,” she explained.  “And we are uncovering more every day. Once you teach my men how to safely excavate and store it, I will be happy to personally deliver our contract to the Baron.”

Anxiety furrowed his brows as he watched the miners gather around attentively, hanging off of the goblins’ every word.  Bringing Vanessa out of earshot, he hissed, “Do you know how illegal this is? Everything the Westfall Revitalization Project is doing will be for nothing if this gets found out!”

She patted the air placatingly.  “You’re overreacting, my friend. If you are  _ truly _ determined to save this place, you need to be willing to do whatever it takes.”

“I’m reporting this to Anduin,” he insisted.

Vanessa’s hand had his arm in a vice-like grip before he could take a single step.  She pulled him in, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as she growled, “The only reason you’re here is because it’ll make you an  _ accomplice _ .  You run off to tell your precious king, and you are going to spend the rest of your life behind bars.  I spent years working my ass off to try and make this dump a little easier to live in; if you think that you get to just barge in and flaunt your money and your connections and be a hero, then you are dead.  Fucking. Wrong.”

His eyes didn’t waver from hers.  “Breaking the law isn’t going to end well.  For anyone.”

“Oh, you think I don’t know that?” she scoffed.  “There’s been a noose with my name on it for years, pal.  Every single one of my people could betray me at any second for the bounty on my head.  But I’m Vanessa freaking Vancleef. I keep going. And I don’t let anyone’s love-sick lapdog stop me.”

When she let his arm go, he didn’t move.  “Good thing I’m not a love-sick lapdog, then,” he returned.

“Then why is the high king of the Alliance just ‘Anduin’ to you?”

He opened his mouth, about to come up with some excuse on the fly, when the sound of panting dragged both of their attentions away from each other.  A Defias bandit rushed towards them, “Miss Vancleef! Storm clouds on the horizon. Scouts already see rain over the ocean.”

She cursed.  “Alright, sound the alarms and get everyone inside the mines.  We can ride this out. Make sure someone secures the rain barrels; no telling how long before the next storm.”

“Right away.”

The goblins looked perplexed.  “If you’re worried about a little water, you would definitely not like Stranglethorn Vale,” the right one remarked.

Vanessa shook her head.  “The ground’s too hard to absorb anything.  When it rains, it floods,” she explained. With a grimace, she added, “This is gonna be a long night.”


	4. The L Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the skies finally clear, Horace has to answer the question of what to do next in the wake of Vanessa's decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _We are the miners of another generation / Hills scraped dry with no choice but be creative_ \- The Growlers, "Chinese Fountain"

Maybe it was the fact that he spent the night worrying about whether his family had been able to get to shelter back in Sentinel Hill, but Horace had slept very poorly.  He was up at midnight, then at three, and finally at four-thirty. At that point, he had simply admitted defeat and rolled out of his cot, keeping the thin blanket wrapped around himself as he ambled out of the Deadmines.  His hair stuck out in every which direction, his eyes were half-shut and itchy, and his clothes were thoroughly disheveled, but the important thing was that the Defias bartender had coffee. He sipped the bitter brew reverently, deciding that some fresh morning air would help him wake up a little faster.  Ambling outside, he screwed his eyes shut and let loose a long, powerful yawn…

...And cried out when he slipped and fell flat on his back.  He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, looking down at his shirt and pants.   _ Great, now I’m covered in coffee and mud _ , he thought to himself, scrubbing his face and grumbling wordlessly.  Then he stopped. Mud. Mud!

Falling onto his elbows, he tilted his head back and yelled, “There’s MUD!” to the few people inside the Defias hideout.

He scrambled to his feet, grinning wildly at the curious folks making their way outside and gesturing to the ground.  Needless to say, they were all shocked. The bartender knelt and dipped his fingers in the stuff, rubbing them together, and his eyes widened.  Horace saw others making their way down the stairs and out the door, visibly irritated at being woken up before sunrise. Yet when they took a look outside, their faces brightened.  Some laughed. Some hugged each other. Some cried.

As the sun finally began making its way skyward, Vanessa joined him in the center of town, leaning back against a wagon and taking it all in.  “Wow,” was all she said.

Horace, who was in the midst of using a stiff-bristled horse brush to scrape all the mud off his pants and blanket, couldn’t help but reply, “Sure is amazing what those druids and shamans were able to do  _ legally _ .”

She rolled her eyes.  Barefoot children scampered past her in the midst of a heated game of chase.  Before she could refute Horace, she was blasted in the stomach by a glob of sticky mud.  She gasped, staring down at her ruined shirt. The children froze in place, eyes wide in the face of potential punishment for hitting the leader of the Defias.

But Vanessa’s shocked expression quickly morphed into a sly grin as she knelt and balled up a handful of mud.  “I’m gonna get you!” she cackled, and the children raced away with shrieks of delight, the rogue jogging after them and laughing.

It made him feel like a little kid again, but Horace still hung back, content to simply watch everyone enjoying themselves.  His pencil was snapped in half from his fall but still usable, and with it he began to scrawl out a letter.

 

_ Anduin, _

_ Things are going well in Westfall.  Thanks to the druids and shamans, the cyclones have calmed down, and the rain actually soaked into the ground!  Usually we end up getting flash floods. If this keeps up, we’ll be able to grow more than just okra soon. I’d lo-- _

 

He stopped his pencil just in time, heart skipping a beat.  He had just been about to use…  _ the L word _ .  Were they at the point that he could use that?  Sure, he was in love with Anduin, but was Anduin in love with him?  When would be a good time to confess that? Would there ever be a good time?

He shook his head.  He could always write Saskia or Natalie and ask about it later, but for now he had things to do, so he did his best to blur the “o” and write over it.

 

_ I’d like for you to join me at Sentinel Hill at some point.  Harvest season is almost over, but come springtime there will be a lot more to see.  I still can’t thank you enough for getting this off the ground. _

_ Yours, _

_ Horace _

 

He made a mental note to hunt down an envelope at some point.  Catching sight of Vanessa walking towards him, he figured that his return trip to Sentinel Hill might be postponed for a while.

“So I’m guessing you have some grandiose agenda for your Revitalization Project to accomplish,” she stated.

“I made a  _ list _ ,” he responded, folding his arms across his chest and flashing her a cheekily smug look.

“Do I dare give it a look?”

After a moment, he began to nod, still bearing his toothless smile, and said, “I left it back in Stormwind.”

She sighed, but it was obvious that she was trying not to laugh.  “Do you remember anything on that list?”

“Definitely a hospital.  Houses, a school, uh, I think some barns?”  There was definitely a slight regret that he had forgotten it.

Humming thoughtfully, she replied, “Hospital actually sounds like a good idea.  Yeah, yeah I think we can make that happen.”

“It is happening.”

“Do you not get enough sleep or something?” she wondered, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s fine.”

She shrugged.  “Anyways, we’re going to need supplies if we want to get anything done.  How well-funded is your pet project?”

Now was a chance to feel a little more genuinely smug.  “Very.”

*

Moonbrook had no useful wood in its current structures.  It was all either too ravaged by termites or the elements to be salvaged.  Stone and the materials to create mortar, however, could be found in the Deadmines.  Horace and Vanessa ended up riding back to Sentinel Hill that day, bringing with them the promise of jobs at fair wages.

Leaning over to Vanessa as the two regarded the line of people eager to start working, Horace whispered, “I have no idea what a fair wage is.”

“We’ll just have to figure it out before their first pay day,” she replied quietly.

Which would most likely be doable.  It would be crucial for people to feel that they weren’t getting ripped off.  Their trust in Vanessa seemed to be much stronger than it was in the kingdom of Stormwind.  Although, that admittedly wasn’t saying much.

People were sorted into several categories based upon physical ability and prior experience.  Some of them had even been miners or lumberjacks before the Scourge War, but their jobs weren’t waiting for them when they returned from Northrend.  All in all, there were roughly one hundred and fifty potential workers to sift through, a process that took several excruciatingly tedious hours. But they were fortunate enough to end up with thirty-two men and women willing and able to start logging in the end.  Hitching up several pack mules to the Revitalization Project’s wagons, they set course for Duskwood.

*

“Raven Hill is the closest settlement to where we’re going to start,” Vanessa noted, pointing to the little house marker on her map.  “On the off chance that someone’s going to protest, we’ll work out a contract. Wait, no,  _ I’ll _ work out a contract.  I don’t usually trust others to handle such a delicate matter.  No offense.”

“And what should I do?” Horace asked.

“Just stand there and look muscular.”

Now it was Horace’s turn to roll his eyes, though he chose to keep silent.  Vanessa admittedly tried his patience more than he was willing to let on. She was so different than the humble, shy girl that had appeared on the Saldean’s doorstep almost a decade ago.  Then again, why did he expect everything to stay the same while he was gone? Time wouldn’t wait for anyone, least of all a farm boy from Westfall.

Rolling his shoulders back, he took a deep breath and decided to study the landscape.  Not that there was much to study. Duskwood was a very aptly-named region, with the forest canopy blocking out most of the sunlight.  He could see ten, maybe fifteen yards in any direction before the trees all blurred into darkness. A motionless chill hung in the air, making him wish that he had brought a cloak. He shuddered, goosebumps raising the hair on his arms. Light, there was something so claustrophobic about this place. A glance over in Vanessa’s direction showed her to be the picture of composure. Meanwhile, he was starting to feel his stomach knot. They were being watched, he could feel the eyes peering at the back of his head. He regretted not bringing a sword for protection, but he supposed a lumberjack’s ax would do in a pinch.  As long as he hit his target with the sharp part.

When they finally reached Raven Hill, Horace realized that there could actually be places in Stormwind that were just as shithole-esque as Westfall.  The buildings were held together by cobwebs and a prayer, and the few people that were in the town looked as if they would ignite upon seeing the light of day

“Halt!”  A woman garbed in a hodgepodge of cracked leather and rusty mail pointed her shotgun in the group’s direction.  “Who goes there?”

“The Westfall Revitalization Project,” Horace informed her, just as Vanessa countered with, “Who’s asking?”

“The Night Watch,” she replied.  “Now answer my question: who goes there?”

“We’re loggers from Westfall.  As a courtesy, we figured that we should stop by and inform you that we’ll be clearing trees along the riverbank,” Vanessa explained.

The woman gestured with her shotgun to the largest decrepit structure, directly behind her.  “Any matters like that need to be taken up with Duke Prentis. He owns most of the land from here to there.”

As if on cue, a middle-aged man in a crisp black suit emerged from the building, his gilded cane hardly touching the ground.  “Indeed I do. You are sorely mistaken if you think that you can simply  _ take _ whatever you please from my property,” he declared.

Horace squinted at the duke, scrunching his mouth to the side.  Apparently they would be negotiating a contract after all.

“Then it looks like we’ll be here for a while,” Vanessa replied, leaning forward and resting her chin on a gloved fist.

“You wish to negotiate, then?”  Folding his arms behind his back, he squared off and studied the young rogue.  “That timber won’t come cheap, you know. Some of it is very old growth.”

Hopping down from the wagon, Vanessa strode past him and into the building.  “We’ll see about that.”

Horace followed, calling over his shoulder for the lumberjacks to take a break and wait for them to return.  The inside was slightly better than the outside thanks to the lack of cobwebs. Duke Prentis gestured for them to sit at a table by the lit hearth and gestured to a silent yet elegant man.  A few moments later, he returned with a tray bearing three glass goblets and a bottle of wine. Duke Prentis took the first sip, setting his goblet back down with a contented sigh.

“Dalaran Red,” he said.  “Expensive, but worth every copper.  As is my land and the timber growing on it, I can assure you.”

Vanessa arched a dark eyebrow.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m fairly certain it’s rude for a host to assume his guests are idiots.”

“You are correct, but your assumption about my thoughts on your intelligence is not,” Prentis replied calmly.

“Then I’m sure you are aware that we are no strangers to a fair price.”

“Ah, yes, I certainly don’t want to take a rock to the skull for not giving you what you want,” he chuckled.

Horace startled at the remark, but Vanessa remained unfazed.

“What do you believe we’ll pay you for access to your land’s timber, Duke?” she drawled, crossing one leg over the other.

“Far too little, considering how valuable natural resources are during wartime.  I will not back down from fifty thousand. Take it or leave it.”

He was very tempted to drain his goblet and sock this Duke across his smug face.

“Leave it.  I’d rather watch you go whine to the king than sign that cheque,” Vanessa retorted.

“Maybe I will.  After all, you  _ are  _ only one complaint away from the chopping block,” Duke Prentis reminded her.

“You bark loud, but I’m sure you bite like a newborn pup,” Vanessa chuckled.  “Twenty-five thousand is our best offer.”

Horace was positive that he never told her the exact budget he had wrung out of Stormwind’s nobles.  He almost felt like sliding her a note with the total amount on it, just so that she knew what they were working with.  They had already spent five thousand gold on all the cloth, thread, needles, and other garment supplies for the multitudes of homeless that needed clothing and bedding.  Food was also another substantial chunk of their budget, as staples like wheat grew sparsely in Westfall and would need to be imported from Elwynn. All in all, they had a little under two hundred thousand gold to work with.  Fifty thousand just for some trees would severely limit what they could do.

Duke Prentis threw his head back and cackled at her counteroffer.  “Ah, I did need a good laugh today. Fifty thousand, my dear, and not a copper less.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Fifty.”

“I think you know that’s the best you’ll get from anyone anywhere.  Much more and you could be thrown in jail for extortion,” Vanessa chimed.

“Sneeze in the wrong direction and you could be in the same boat.”

“Thirty-five.”

“ _ Fifty _ .”

She paused, lacing her fingers and resting them neatly on the table.  Then she smirked. “Alright, Prentis, fifty it is. But we don’t just get the riverbank.  We get whichever trees we desire, old growth, hardwood, whatever, all the way to Raven Hill.  And if we want to clear the whole forest, then we get to clear the whole forest.”

He guffawed.  “Are you mad?”

“That’s the only way you’ll ever get to see that kind of money in your possession.  Take it or leave it.”

Grumbling something inaudible, he took a moment to mull the offer over.  Finally, he gusted out a sigh and announced, “Very well, I will accept your offer.  But know that if a breach in contract is so much as a twinkle in your eye I will personally oversee your delivery to King Anduin.”

Preening in the face of her victory, she pulled out a sheet of parchment.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*

He was alive.  By some miracle of the Light, he was actually alive after the siege of Lordaeron, but he was thoroughly shaken.  The instant he had been able to shrug off the oppressive weight of white and gold plate armor, he shrank back down to the small and vulnerable child the craftsmen had worked hard to disguise.  Sylvanas saw right through that disguise. There was no escaping her judgement, it seemed. Or her wrath.

A frantic guard had shaken him awake at some silent hour to inform him of the Horde infiltration.  It was something they had been expecting, of course. In the custody of the Alliance were two people of immense political power in the Zandalari empire, and one of the few boons of their most recent conquest: Varok Saurfang.  Anduin and his advisors expected the Horde to send people to break them out. What they did not expect was for Saurfang to remain. Or the fires.

In the dead of night, he could see no stars.  Only the flames engulfing his city, scouring the stone and devouring the wood.  Thank the Light that there were no casualties. But homes were still lost. The victims of Teldrassil’s senseless burning were still forced to endure yet more trauma.  Despite how quickly the flames spread, they were quelled within two hours. Jaina and her mages proved just how invaluable they were that night. Natalie worked ceaselessly to teleport people out of burning buildings until her exhausted body was rendered incapable of doing much more than staying upright.  Saskia had used Darcy to smother flames in frostfire, careening through the sky until not even one single ember remained. And Anduin… High King Anduin Wrynn had shouted orders and raced around the city and been completely useless.

In the strengthening light of morning, he stood in the keep’s throne room with his advisors and champions.  Sore eyes scanned a map of Kul’Tiras, then flit to Genn, then Shaw, then a champion, then Jaina, then back to the map.  The weight of the former archmage’s presence unsettled him. He had once called her “Auntie,” although she had always been something more akin to a mother figure, but it had been years since he last used the term.

There were deep violet bruises underneath her steely eyes.  Her face was drawn and her expression hard. It didn’t take much to see that she suffered deeply.  And despite her reappearance, she had so far given no indication that she  _ wanted _ to be back.  She did what she had to and retreated to unknown haunts when the job was done.

While Sky Admiral Rodgers was proposing a direct invasion of Dazar’alor--something he would have rejected regardless of whether or not he was paying attention--he turned to Jaina and whispered, “Are you okay?”

Keeping her gaze pinned on Rodgers, Jaina replied softly, “I’m fine.  Don’t worry.”

But he  _ did _ , and his heart ached at knowing that his beloved Auntie was hurting.  He wished he knew where they stood. Maybe if there existed remnants of their former bond he could try to offer her some sort of comfort.

“I will be taking my apprentice with me,” Jaina informed them.

Anduin’s eyebrows shot clear up to his hairline when she beckoned forward Natalie of all people.  How long had this been going on? And, more importantly, why did she never tell him? He stared at her in askance, but received no answer.

“Miss Rashid has proven a very reliable student, and excels in a variety of area.  Her skills are likely to be needed, if rumors of Kul’Tiras’s current state are to be believed,” Jaina continued.

Natalie put a hand on her chest and bowed.  “Thank you, Lady Proudmoore. I will do my best to help.”

And wherever Natalie went, Saskia was never far behind.  The absence of his closest friend and his adoptive sister didn’t settle well in his stomach, but he knew that he needed to rank his personal feelings low on the totem pole for the time being.  There was no lack of difficult work to be done.

The one good thing to come from the meeting was Genn going to Kul’Tiras.  It was sometimes difficult to listen to the worgen’s constant… well, he didn’t want to call it nagging, but there were times when it definitely felt like nagging.

Pulling Genn to the side, he made the older man promise to keep a close eye on Jaina.  “I’m worried that Kul’Tiras will not receive her as well as we hope. She doesn’t need any more pain that she’s already endured.”

“Of course, Anduin.  I’ll send you updates regularly,” Genn assured him.

He gave a small sigh of relief.  “I appreciate it.”

Within the hour, both Jaina’s ship and the 7th Legion’s flagship had pulled out of the harbor and were sinking into the horizon.  Anduin watched them go from the keep’s ramparts, his brow drawn together in worry. It was only a cold, wet nose nudging his hand that drew his attention away.  Bear’s tongue lolled out to the side as he gazed up at his master. It had been obvious from the time he had been found that he was going to be a big dog; several months of growing had certainly fulfilled that expectation, but he was barely a year old and had even more growing to do before he would be done.  But despite his size, Bear still considered himself a good lap dog, snuggling up to his people like his life depended on it.

Reaching down, Anduin mussed the dog’s soft black fur.  “Let’s go see what the rest of the day holds for us,” he told him, and began his descent from the white stone wall.

Once he entered his office and gave his agenda a cursory glance, it became obvious that most of his time would be taken up with meetings.  There were also new reports neatly arranged by urgency. Despite the larger pile of most important documents, Anduin found himself reaching for the familiar narrow lettering of someone whose words he knew to be a balm.  A small smile warmed his face as he read Horace’s letter. It faltered slightly when he saw the distinct smudge of an eraser that had attempted to disguise a half-finished use of…  _ the L word _ .

His cheeks immediately colored.  Did Horace feel that way about him?  He felt that way about Horace, of course, but what if it wasn’t reciprocated?  This was his first romantic relationship; he had no idea when it would be the proper time to use such a strong word.  If it would ever be the proper time. He wished he had read the letter before Saskia and Natalie departed for Kul’Tiras, so that he could have consulted with them.

He looked down at Bear, sitting attentively by his chair.  “Why do these things have to be so complicated?” he asked.

All he got in response was a wag of the dog’s fluffy black tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow almost a hundred hits! this is a little late in posting but that's because i was procrastinating and fixing the outline.


	5. Kul'Tiras Hold 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalie and Saskia, travelling with Lady Jaina Proudmoore, arrive at Boralus, but their arrival is hardly welcome.

Natalie had seen bits and pieces of Kul’Tiras from her time as Jaina’s apprentice, but witnessing the city of Boralus in all its glory, she was  _ enraptured _ .  Next to her, Saskia leaned against the deck’s railing and drank in the crisp sea air.  Gulls dogged the ship in hopes of attaining fish scraps or shiny objects. Their raucous cries drowned out the gentle sound of the sea washing up against the sides of the boat, heedless of the craft’s prestige or history.  Above their heads, an albatross drifted along, its pearlescent feather sparkling in the sunshine. She knew from the treatise on Kul’Tiras that had kept her occupied for the week that the bird symbolized good fortune for sailors.  Killing one, even out of necessity, spelled doom for the entire ship.

As they drew closer to the harbor, Natalie and Saskia went below deck to pack their bags, although Saskia was the only one who actually had to lug something bulky around.  Natalie’s small leather shoulder bag, thanks to some well-timed eavesdropping on the Great Akazamzarak, held significantly more than its size suggested.

The clack of a staff against the wooden floorboards heralded her mentor’s approach.  Jaina frowned as she regarded the girls.

“I suspect that we may be leaving before we’ve really arrived,” she admitted.  “And I doubt we’ll be receiving a warm welcome. Until it is determined that we’ll be safe to remain in Boralus, I ask that you both remain on the ship.  I’ll send for you if we’re allowed to stay.”

“Of course, Jaina,” Natalie said, masking her disappointment with a smile.  She watched as the senior mage inclined her head and walked away.

Once out of earshot, Saskia tilted forward to ask, “You actually going to stay on the boat?”

“Nope,” she chirped.

“That’s my girl.”

Going topside again revealed that there were ramparts just across from their boat.  Saskia put a hand on Natalie’s shoulder, and she concentrated. In the blink of an eye, they were granted a bird’s eye view of Jaina’s arrival to the capital of Kul’Tiras.  It was… far from easy to watch.

People hurled curses.  A few even hurled objects.  Parents hid their children, shaking their heads at the woman walking by.  Jaina ignored all of it, though she hung her head and kept her hood pulled up, the Alliance emissary following along warily.  Natalie’s heart went out to her mentor. She never believed the tales that the former archmage had simply stood aside and watched her own father be cut down.  There was no way those stories had any truth to them. Jaina Proudmoore was a good person with good reasons for doing things.

When Jaina ascended the hill towards an imposing stone castle, Natalie and Saskia blinked to the ramparts over there, ending up just behind a little wall.  Settling down on their stomach to avoid being detected, the two watched the crowds of nobles and soldiers gather to witness the spectacle. They gave her a wide berth, wearing those same looks of disgust and anger.

From two large wooden doors emerged first a trim, pale woman, with long grey hair pinned back in a bun and an intricately-embroidered vest.  Behind her was a heavier woman wearing, of all things, an Azerite pendant. Natalie knew not to judge people based on their appearances, but she couldn’t help her suspicion.  The only other person who had such an accessory was Gallywix, and, well. It was Gallywix. There was always something suspicious going on under his watch.

“I saw portraits of these people in the treatise,” she whispered to Saskia.  “The white-haired one’s Katherine Proudmoore, Jaina’s mother and the current Lord Admiral of Kul’Tiras since Daelin and Derek died and Tandred went missing.  And to her left is Lady Priscilla Ashvane. Both of them lost their husbands at Theramore--the First War battle, not the recent one--and have become inseparable over the years.  Priscilla oversees the massively lucrative Ashvane Trading Co.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Saskia muttered.  “Never trust a high-ranking capitalist.”

“I don’t think that’s a real saying.”

Priscilla Ashvane’s voice rang loud and clear over the crowd.  “Enforce our laws,” she urged the Lord Admiral. “The punishment for treason… is death.”

Natalie gasped.  Saskia hummed worriedly and drew a throwing dagger.

But Lady Proudmoore was silent as she took several slow, echoing steps towards her daughter.  Neither girl could hear what she said, or what Jaina responded with, but saw her rip her daughter’s anchor pendant from around her neck, then turn around and walk back into the keep.

Ashvane didn’t follow.  Instead, she pointed a finger at Jaina and shouted, “Guards, seize her!”

Saskia cursed and was crouched on the ledge in an instant.  Quick as a viper, she launched her throwing dagger at the noblewoman, but missed as Natalie grabbed hold of her ankle and blinked them away.

They reappeared on the deck of their vessel.  In the distance, a cavalryman was approaching, shouting orders to lock down Jaina’s ship.  Scrambling to her feet, Natalie dashed down into the hold.

“I could’ve ended things right then and there,” Saskia insisted, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice as she followed.

“Oh, yeah, and then Kul’Tiras  _ definitely _ would’ve joined the Alliance,” Natalie countered.

The door to Jaina’s cabin was locked by arcane means, of course, but it was a lock that the former archmage had taught her to create.  Opening up her shoulder bag, she began to strip the cabin of all personal possessions. Saskia returned a short while later, her own pack stuffed to the brim.

“I grabbed as many rations as I could fit, some bedrolls, and first aid supplies.  And some new clothes for you,” she said, adding, “You kinda stand out in a crowd.”

Her pink and purple enchanted silkweave armor was, admittedly, a bit garish by the standards of northerners.  “Good thinking.”

“You there!”

The two whirled around to find a Boralus guard standing in the doorway.  Saskia bolted forward, slamming his head into the wall and throwing his unconscious body out of eyesight.  More footsteps thundered above their heads in response to the shout.

Natalie recalled a spell she had used in Suramar.  Slamming her foot on the floor, she raised her fists up and watched as all important contents in the room were funneled into her bag, finishing just in the nick of time.  Saskia kicked the door shut on the guards who were running towards them with halberds raised, then put an arm on her partner. By the time the guards forced the door open, the two had winked out of sight.

The moment they materialized in a dismal alleyway, Natalie’s heart almost stopped.  Turning back in the direction of the ship with a look of horror, she cried, “My grimoire!”

Saskia clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into the shadows before anyone saw.  “We can’t go back for it yet. The harbor’s gonna be swarming with people looking for us.  Our best bet it to lay low and wait.”

Her shoulders slumped.  “Dammit,” she sighed.

“Here’s those clothes.”  Saskia handed them over, her brows furrowed sympathetically.  “I’ll stand guard while you change.”

She nodded.  They were drab, but comfortable, and certain to keep her warm.  A crisp autumn breeze fluttered through the alleyway, sending a shiver up her spine.  “I feel like I’m up a creek without a paddle,” she admitted. “That book has  _ everything. _ ”

“Have you ever thought about making your own?” Saskia offered.

“I thought about it, I’ve just never had time.  I’m still sorting through everything in the one I stole.”  She chuckled softly. “Remember the look on that lady’s face when you hog-tied her?”

“As if I could forget,” she laughed.

Stashing her old outfit in the bag, she took Saskia’s hand and walked out into the street.  Indeed, no one really seemed to notice her. They were all too busy trying to fight off the late afternoon chill or, in some cases, each other.   _ This must be the Dampwick Ward _ , she thought to herself.   _ That explains all the vagrants and pickpockets _ .

Her heart went out to the thin, huddled masses scattered along the edges of the buildings, holding out shaking hands in hopes of food or coin.  If she had her grimoire, she could have conjured some food for them, but it unfortunately seemed that she would be without a lot of spells for the time being.

“We should find a tavern for the night,” Saskia suggested.

Her words startled Natalie out of her own thoughts.  “Right. Um… I didn’t really pay attention to the tourist pamphlets.  There was the Snug Harbor, but that’s too close to the trouble.” She hummed.

The rogue gestured to a place about twenty or so yards ahead of them.  “That doesn’t look too sketchy.”

It was a quaint little tavern, with a view that sat right next to the ocean.  Being able to watch the sunset over the water did sound nice. A boon to an otherwise hectic series of events.  “Looks fine to me.”

Saskia fished out enough coin to afford them food and board for the night.  The innkeep passed them two keys with advice that they should make use of the trunk if they wanted to keep their belongings.  The room itself was tiny, with one bed and a brazier in the corner and a sizeable trunk that Saskia hefted her bag into. Natalie placed hers in as well, setting a ward on the lock that would zap anyone who tried to pick it.

Their meal was a piping hot bowl of clam chowder with chunks of fresh bread.  Certainly not the best she had ever tasted, but she was hungry from all the teleporting and it filled her up.  She passed Saskia a few silver for a half pint of honeyed mead.

Her partner, on the other hand, went for something a little stronger.  Natalie took one sniff of the vodka and recoiled in disgust. “You actually like this stuff?”

“It’s very efficient,” Saskia replied, and tossed back the shot.  She tilted her head back and puffed out a sigh. “Yeah, that gets the job done.”

Laughing through her nose, Natalie pushed her glass forward.  “Please take a sip of this so I can kiss you later,” she insisted.

Sitting by the fire was a large fellow that, contrary to his gruff appearance, was plucking away at a guitar with a gentle hand.  She leaned back in her seat and nursed her beverage, moving her foot in time with his humming. Her full stomach, the alcohol’s lull, and the slow song were quickly making her eyelids grow heavy.

“Well, this day was a bust,” Saskia muttered.

She watched her stand and ask, “What’s your name, bard?”

“Jay, miss,” he replied calmly.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a coin and flipped it into his tip jar.  “Play us something sweet, Jay.” She turned back to Natalie and gave a half-bow, extending her hand.  “May I have this dance?”

A smile splayed out on her face as she accepted the hand.  “You don’t even have to ask.”

The two swayed back and forth slowly.  She giggled as she ducked and Saskia rose onto the balls of her feet to twirl her around, coming back to her and stealing a quick peck.  The setting sun’s rays filtered through the door and windows and bathed the wooden tavern a sleepy orange. And as the last of the day’s warmth gave way to the chill of the night, Natalie was glad that she had someone to press close to.

*

Saskia awoke sometime after midnight with a hankering for more food.  Almost assassinating nobles was hungry work. Luckily, there was still some leftover bread in the inn’s kitchen, kept warm by the dying embers of the stone oven.  She left two coppers to cover the cost and made her way back to the room, being careful not to wake her girlfriend, and hopped up onto the inn’s roof from the balcony.  Out of her pocket came a telescope that she steadied with one hand while her other was occupied with her snack.

Boralus was a big city, enough that she figured there would be something interesting going on this late at night.  And as it turned out, there was something interesting… and concerning.

A woman with braided white hair was being escorted by two heavily-muscled men that were being far from gentle.   _ Jaina _ , Saskia realized when she focused her scope.  Setting her bread down, she pulled her hood forward and took a few steps back.  She cleared the distance between the two roofs with ease, landing soundlessly. There were five more buildings between her and the mage.  She dropped into a crouch and peered over the ledge of the final roof.

Ashvane insignias covered every crate and barrel around the building.  Yet, oddly enough, the ship was unmarked. As were the men escorting Jaina.  She knew of few pirate rings who didn’t loudly and proudly advertise who they were.  These ones must have been paid to be discreet, which meant that wherever they were taking their captive was nowhere legit.

She pulled out her telescope again and tried to get a better look at the figure standing behind the wheel, but their face was obscured by a bandana and tricorn hat.  But it was a distinctly red tricorn hat, which narrowed their affiliation down to one local group: the Irontide Raiders. It was a starting place, at least.

Knowing that this was far from a one-man job, she slipped back to the inn to wait for morning.

*

“I’m still frustrated that you didn’t haggle the price down more.  Aren’t you supposed to be a renowned negotiator?”

Vanessa tossed another dart onto the painting of the Lion Throne, hitting it right where someone’s head would be.  “Hey, I got us triple the land that you were asking for. We are literally rolling in timber.”

“Yeah, and pretty soon we’ll be rolling in lack of funds,” Horace replied in exasperation.  “With all the people being employed by the Revitalization Project, we don’t even have enough to guarantee anyone a year’s salary.”

“Wait, really?”  She sat up, planting all four chair legs on the ground and leaning forward to examine his calculations.

“Really.”

She eyed him.  “You know what would give us more money?”

“Selling the Azerite!” they said in unison.

“No,” Horace stated.

“Right, I forgot, you don’t want to hurt your boyfriend’s feelings.”  She popped some walnuts into her mouth. Walnuts that they happened to also be harvesting from Duskwood.

“ _My_ _boyfriend_ is the one who personally provided us fifty percent of our current budget--” he began.

“Oh-ho, so you do admit he’s your boyfriend?  I thought it was ‘purely professional’.”

Dammit.  He had walked right into that one.  “Even if I was,” he said, “you couldn’t prove it.”  Although there was a part of him that wished she could prove it.  The little green-eyed monster in his mind was had to keep quiet when he watched Saskia and Natalie walk arm-in-arm through the city.

“Don’t underestimate me, Lin,” she chided lightly.

Baron Revilgaz’s goblins had left a few nights prior after ensuring that their students were adequately prepared to harvest Azerite on their own.  Before doing so, however, they had given Vanessa and Horace a tantalizing offer on the Baron’s behalf.

“Azerite’s the hot new thing,” they reminded the two.  “Everyone wants their hands on the stuff. And if you’re willing to part with it, our boss is willing to help you all live fat and sassy for the rest of your lives.”

Even the low estimate had been enormous.  To say it had been difficult to not immediately accept was an understatement.  But this was Horace’s operation, not Vanessa’s, and he got the final say in where their funding came from.

He frowned.  “These are still pirates that we’re negotiating with,” he finally said.  “If we’re going to deal with them--and it’s a big ‘if’ still--we need to be extremely well prepared.  Let’s at least give it a month.”

Vanessa folded her arms across her chest.  “Okay,  _ fine _ .  One month, or until we absolutely have no other way of keeping this project afloat.”

That was a plan he could work with.  Or maybe not. He really was going into this thing blind.  “Alright.”

“Although I feel obligated to once again warn you that it’s a bad idea to put all your eggs in one basket.  If there’s one thing the Vancleef family has learned, it’s that the Wrynn’s are good at making empty promises.  Don’t get your hopes up too high; I’d hate to see you get hurt.”


	6. Cat Powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin has anxiety and Natalie obtains a very ugly cat.

The disappearance of both Jaina Proudmoore and the Alliance emissary had set everyone on edge.  The Alliance desperately needed the naval power of Kul’Tiras to stand a chance against the Horde in the long run.  With everything so in limbo, it was impossible to tell if their plans would come to fruition.

Anduin used the Light to “feel” around the still-healing back of one Malfurion Stormrage, who sat on a chair in front of him.  Tyrande was there as well, arms folded across her chest as she stared at the floor, deep in thought.

“As far as I can tell,” he finally announced, bringing the High Priestess out of her reverie, “there’s no severe damage to the spinal column or any of the major nerves attached to it.”

“So walking will be no issue?” she prompted.

“It won’t, given time.  But it will be imperative to take things slow nevertheless.  Saurfang’s strike came within inches of being fatal.” He remembered what it had been like during his recovery after the Divine Bell.  It was easy to understand Tyrande’s worry. Such injuries were notoriously difficult to completely recover from, something that Anduin was reminded of on a regular basis.

In his seat, Malfurion began to snore.  Tyrande’s ears twitched as she stifled a chuckle.  With great injuries came great fatigue. She let Anduin work on using the Light to encourage the body to heal itself.  It was a tedious, complicated process; there was only so much a person’s body could handle at one time. Sometimes their bodies didn’t accept healing at all.  He was thankful that Malfurion’s did. So many victims of Teldrassil’s burning hadn’t…

Eventually, he ended the spell and announced, “That should do it.”

Tyrande put a gentle hand on her partner’s shoulder.  “Time to wake up, dear,” she encouraged.

The druid mumbled something and keeled over to the side.  Both Anduin and Tyrande dove for him, startling him awake as he was hauled upright.  “I’m awake!” he declared.

“Of course, dear,” the High Priestess replied warmly.

“I  _ can _ be a deer.  And a bear.”

With help, Malfurion was able to get back to his bed to rest.  Tyrande thanked Anduin for his assistance in her partner’s recovery, and he left to check on his next patient.

Mia Greymane smiled at him when he entered her and Genn’s room.  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” she managed. Her throat was still raw and sore from smoke inhalation, but as far as he and the other medics could tell she would recover her voice entirely by the year’s end.

Underneath the quilt covering her legs, he could see large casts propped up with pillows.  How had he not noticed  _ two broken legs _ when he had revived her?

“Please, call me Anduin,” he replied.  “I don’t insist on titles when among friends.”

She nodded her acquiescence, clearing her throat to ask, “Genn?”

“No word yet, unfortunately.  But I’m sure he’s safe. He’s quite stubborn.”

“Oh, yes.”  Her eyes sparked mirthfully.

He pulled up a chair on the edge of her bed, placing the tips of his fingers on her neck and channelling the Light.  So far, she hadn’t contracted pneumonia, but he still gave her lungs a bit of a boost as well, just in case. Aside from the medics, Genn and Tess had been keeping a close eye on her.  The latter had even set up a bird bath and feeder on the balcony outside so she had something nice to look at, and a sizeable stack of books rested on her bedside table.

“I want to apologize for not seeing your other injuries,” he told her, but Mia gave his hand a pat before he could continue.  He let go of the Light and brought his hands down so she could speak.

“You saved my life, Anduin.  No one is upset with you for not noticing the breaks, least of all me.”  She coughed at those last words, and Anduin renewed his healing spell.

There was a soft knock at the door.  After receiving a nod from Mia, he called for them to enter.  A servant entered, carrying a tray of soup, fresh bread, and tea.  Anduin moved the books to the nearby desk so she could set it all down on the bedside table.

“Thank you,” Mia rasped, accepting the steaming mug and swirling in some honey from the little jar on the tray.

“Of course, Milady.”  With a quick bow, she exited the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

She sipped her tea with a thoughtful gleam in her eyes.  “I can see recent events starting to wear on you,” she stated simply.

“I appreciate your concern,” he began, “but I’m alright.  I’m simply a little new to all of this.”

From the look on her face, it was obvious that she didn’t believe him.  Out loud, she said, “If you need me, I’m here.”

He hoped that the smile he gave her was convincing as he thanked her.  Leaving her to enjoy her meal, he moved onto his next task: meeting with those of Stormwind’s nobility who had decided to finance the Westfall Revitalization Project.  Granted, they hadn’t pledged to give away the thousands of gold at once; a monthly contribution had been agreed upon as the best method months ago.

In exchange for their continued patronage, the nobles would receive frequent updates on how their money was being spent, how the Revitalization Project was moving along, when certain steps in the plan came to fruition, et cetera et cetera.  According to Horace, the situation in Westfall was improving exponentially.  _ The one thing going right in all of Azeroth _ , he thought ruefully.

Upon satisfying the prickly aristocrats, he was greeted by a 7th Legion soldier with a sharp salute and a letter.

“Lord Greymane and the 7th Legion forces have docked in Boralus, Your Majesty,” she reported.  “They are being hosted by Harbormaster Cyrus Crestfall. All further details are contained within the missive.”

He inclined his head.  “My thanks. Dismissed.”

He kept his pace quick as he broke the seal and began to scan the detailed report.  Halford Wyrmbane was, as usual, excruciatingly thorough. Anduin was receiving a minute-by-minute account of Jaina’s arrest, the riot at Tol Dagor that allowed the Alliance Emissary to be freed, and the ongoing investigation into corruption within Kul’Tiras and the Ashvane Trading Company.  He became so engrossed in his reading that he ran smack into the map table. A small yelp escaped him as he was thrown off balance. Recovering himself, he smoothed his royal blue overcoat and looked around to see if anyone had seen.

Tyrande stood still as a statue on the opposite side of the expansive table, her expression blank.  “I had hoped to speak with you, Your Majesty,” she informed him.

“Of course, High Priestess.  I am always happy to listen to--”

“My people do not desire to remain in Stormwind forever.  Though we are eternally grateful for your hospitality, this is not our home.”

Anduin knew what was coming, and braced himself accordingly.

“The kaldorei wish to seek vengeance and reclaim our stolen lands immediately.”

“High Priestess, I understand and empathize with you and your people,” he began, a speech he had prepared and recited several times now.  “But at this moment, the Alliance does not have enough forces to adequately serve your cause. If I can please request your patience, I vow that we will restore your lands and rid them of all Horde presence.”

“So you keep saying,” she remarked primly.  Taking a deep breath, she added, “Very well.  I will put the subject aside until Malfurion is fully recovered.  We shall speak of this further at a later date.”

He put a hand over his breast and bowed to her.  She left the room before he could thank her for acquiescing.  A pang of guilt washed through him as he looked over his shoulder.  He had no idea if he could actually make good on his word. The Alliance was already stretched thin, and the war hadn’t even been raging for three months.  Casualties from their all-to-recent conflict with the Burning Legion were heavy. Not a day went by where that wasn’t made painfully obvious. Trained infantry, the ones who had survived the prior war, were some of the toughest, most battle-hardened people out there, but the same was true for those fighting for the Horde.  And very few champions had taken sides.

A steady, dull throbbing began to take root in his head.  Rubbing his forehead, he straightened the report’s pages and made for his office, requesting that a pot of coffee be brought.  No mug; it wouldn’t be necessary.

*

Arms folded across her chest, Natalie tapped her foot against the wooden floorboards, mouth quirked to the side.  “I’m still frustrated that you didn’t wake me up. I could’ve teleported her out of there.”

“Yeah, but what would we have done with her?” Saskia asked.  “They would’ve just tried to arrest her again. I think that Jaina  _ needs _ to be out of the picture for a while.  Just until we can figure out what’s going on and get Kul’Tiras on our side.”

She watched her partner sling the bulky pack over her shoulder.  “I just really don’t like the thought of pirates getting their grubby little hands on her.  I mean, why not Ashvane Trading Co. people?”

“Pirates don’t usually leave a paper trail.  Or they make it really, really hard to find.”  She shrugged.

Descending the stairs, Natalie scanned the various patrons scattered throughout the main floor.  The two girls found a small table in the corner and ordered up their breakfasts of bread, bacon, and eggs.  The eggs, at least, tasted decent; it was difficult to ruin a scramble. She still dumped a hefty amount of pepper on them.

“So what should we do?” Saskia wondered around a mouthful of food.

She tapped her fork against the rim of the plate, thinking.  “Probably try to find Genn and the 7th Legion. With any luck, they’ll have been able to dock.”

Sasakia nodded.  “Yeah, their ship’s a lot smaller.  Draws less attention.”

“Hopefully we won’t draw any attention.  We  _ were _ seen by a lot of guards yesterday,” Natalie remarked.

Again, the rogue shrugged.  “Don’t look nervous and no one’ll bother you.  Works every time.”

She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, raising her chin so that it was level.  Of course she knew where she was going. Of course she was confident that she belonged here. Just like everyone else did.  Although everyone else still seemed to be huddled against the cold, even those walking quickly to their destinations. She flushed and ducked her head.  There was a slight chance that to blend in she had to read the room.

Saskia kept her hands stuffed in her coat pockets, looking straight ahead so as to avoid eye contact with the locals.  She didn’t look at signs or change her expression or talk. At a glance, she passed for a native of Boralus.

“I feel like I’m overthinking this whole ‘blending in’ thing,” Natalie said quietly.  She pressed closer to her partner to keep from colliding with a broad-shouldered outrigger shoving through traffic.

Grabbing her hand, Saskia replied, “You’re doing fine.  Just think about what you want to have for lunch or something.”

Probably a mix of fish and other ocean fare.  She got the feeling that Kul’Tiran dishes, like those of Stormwind, were meant to be more utilitarian than artful.  Not like in Pandaria. Light, her stomach had been spoiled in Pandaria. There was nothing those chefs couldn’t make delicious.  Even the innkeeps from run-down little holes in the wall could whip up something wonderful.

The harbor was mercifully easy to find.  And, much to their relief, none of the guards appeared to recognize them.  Saskia spoke to one of them for directions to the harbormaster’s office.

The burly woman folded her arms across her chest.  “What business does someone like you have with the harbormaster, exactly?” she inquired.

Saskia shrugged.  “I dunno.” She pulled a hand out of her coat pocket and waved an envelope in the air.  “Boss just said this needs to go there.”

“And who’s your boss?”

“Ashvane.”

It took Natalie a second to realize that Saskia was throwing her voice so that she sounded Kul’Tiran.   _ Impressive _ , she thought.  If she had her grimoire, of course, she could have cast a spell that would have temporarily disguised both their voices, but that wasn’t a possibility at the moment.  The reality still irked her to no end. How was she supposed to remember everything in there?

Thanks to Saskia’s nonchalance, the guard gestured for them to follow her.  She led them down two flights of stone stairs and past a cobbler. Two more guards stepped aside to allow them passage through a large hardwood door.  From there, they were left to their own devices.

“Don’t even think about getting into any trouble,” the guard threw over her shoulder.  “We aren’t stingy with the noose.”

Natalie put a hand to her tightening throat.  Before Saskia could make her way down the last flight of stairs and into the office, she stopped her with a soft, “I don’t think we should tell them what you saw last night.”

Saskia’s eyebrows rose up.  “Wait, really?”

“Jaina’s fate could currently be in our hands, and we’re not important politicians.  Our snooping isn’t going to attract attention; Genn and Shaw’s will. And I have a feeling the eels that took her will slither back into the shadows if they even get the slightest whiff of spies,” she insisted, smacking a fist into her open palm.

“Okay, I agree, but that is the coolest fucking analogy,” Saskia replied.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Natalie demurred, but her partner still insisted that she would make a good writer.

Two familiar and three unfamiliar faces turned towards the pair as they descended the steps down into the harbormaster’s office.  Saskia gave them a two-fingered salute off of her brow.

Genn frowned.  “Oh. You survived.”

“Good to see you too, Jeffrey,” she returned flatly.

Natalie bowed, interjecting before the two were really at each other’s throats.  “We spent the night searching Boralus, but unfortunately didn’t uncover anything concerning Lady Proudmoore’s whereabouts,” she informed him.

The Gilnean king inclined his head in her direction.  “I’m sure you did your best, apprentice. We have agents from SI:7 on the case as well, and of course the emissary.”

At least Genn seemed to like her, despite her close proximity to Saskia.  The man could be an unnerving presence. Maybe it was the fact that the worgen curse kept him very obviously muscular despite the fact that he was very obviously past the age where he should be that muscular.  Yeah, that was definitely the reason.

He turned to the large, unfamiliar man near the fireplace and gestured to the duo.  “Cyrus, allow me to introduce you to Natalie Rashid, apprentice to Lady Proudmoore. And her friend.”

Saskia stepped forward.  “Saskia Rastout, agent to King Wrynn.”

“Are you the harbormaster, Cyrus?” Natalie wondered.

He nodded.  “Indeed, miss.  And this is  _ my _ apprentice, Taelia Fordragon.”

A spritely girl with short dark hair approached and extended her hand.  “You’re Jaina Proudmoore’s student? Do you live in Dalaran then?”

“With my parents.  We moved there from Tanaris,” she explained.

Her face lit up.  “Oh, I’ve never met anyone from Tanaris!  Have you ever seen a bronze dragon? Is it true they can travel through time?  Is the desert really as barren as people say?” She seemed to snap out of her train of thought.  “Sorry, I’m rambling. But could you tell me about it over drinks sometime? I’ll buy.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Natalie chuckled.  As curious as Taelia seemed, she could make a good mage.

The final unfamiliar face, who had thus far been silent as he leaned up against a support beam, lurched forward.  “How could you possibly forget to introduce the fabulously famous Flynn Fairwind?” he asked in mock indignation. Plucking off his tricorn hat, he tucked one leg in front of the other and gave a deep bow.

“Fabulously  _ in _ famous,” Taelia japed, but he waved a dismissive hand.

“I have been working alongside you fine Alliance folk to help locate Lady Proudmoore,” he added.  “And, of course, bring peace to all Kul’Tiras. It’s devastatingly hard work that I am disproportionately compensated for, but a job’s a job.”

_ He’s handsome, _ she thought to herself.   _ In a wind-swept, rugged sort of way.  I wonder if he knows he looks like a character on one of the Steamy Romance covers. _

“Fairwind, huh?  Darkmoon’s had his eye on you for a while, now,” Saskia noted.

His face paled considerably.  “Am I going to die?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“So, you mentioned trying to find Lady Proudmoore?” Natalie interjected.  It amused Saskia to throw around the ringmaster’s name and watch people squirm, but they had a strict agenda that they shouldn’t be deviating from.  “Do you have any leads so far?”

“Well, we’ve really only got Lady Ashvane on our list of suspicious people to investigate.  Although if you see anyone else feel free to report--”

“Miss Rashid and Miss Rastout will not be engaging in any field reconnaissance.”

Up until that point, Mathias Shaw had been completely silent, standing still as a statue.  Now he turned his attention to her and Saskia.

“The current political climate here is far worse than we were aware of upon arrival.  Our emissary has the experience to navigate this, but these two do not have that history.  The deaths of two of the High King’s close friends here would ruin any chance of a political alliance with Kul’Tiras.  Miss Rastout and Miss Rashid will remain within a safe perimeter of the 7th Legion ship and act solely as liaisons to Stormwind.”

It was a very official way of saying that the 7th Legion was going to babysit them.  Natalie folded her arms across her chest. “Very well. By your leave, Spymaster.” She let a small bit of sarcasm trickle into her voice.

If he picked up on it, he did not react.  “Dismissed, apprentice.”

Once outside and out of earshot, Saskia grinned and wondered, “We gonna listen to them?”

“Oh, of course not.  Now let’s get snooping.”

*

Retracing their steps led them to the Ashvane Trading Company’s headquarters in under an hour.  The main issue then became getting past the guards stationed along the bridge to their wharf. Natalie met the gaze of one of them, an absolute behemoth of a man who, in another life, had likely been an orc.  He glared at her and shifted his weight, exposing the loaded pistol at his hip.

A loaded pistol that had the telltale glimmer of Azerite dust.  “They’ve already found a way to weaponize the blood of a world soul,” Natalie growled.  “Disgusting.”

“It’s gone far beyond just gunpowder; I saw them packing their tanks and gyrocopters with the stuff in Darkshore,” Saskia lamented.

“And from what I’ve heard, no one’s letting antiquities laws stop them from excavating.”

“I’m sure the League of Explorers is fran--”  She suddenly sucked in a breath and recoiled. “ _ Huah! _ ”

Natalie leaned forward to peer around her partner.  Her eyes went wide and lips pursed as she saw the creature that had presumably brushed against Saskia’s leg.  It was a cat. The single most horrifyingly ugly cat she had ever witnessed, with its underbite, patchy, matted coat, and milky bug-eyes that stared at her, unblinking.

It took her a moment to process all of it.  Then a lightbulb went off in her head. “I have an idea,” she said.  “Can you watch my body for a couple minutes?”

“Are you going to sacrifice yourself to it?” Saskia asked incredulously.

“I’m going to use it to scry.  We may not be able to get through to Ashvane HQ, but this little guy can.”  Kneeling, she clucked her tongue. “Who’s a good kitty? Oh, you’re a good kitty!” she cooed.

The cat meowed and started walking towards her without hesitation.  Natalie got comfortable on the ground, procuring an extra jacket to keep her face from touching the ground.  She shuddered at the thought of her lips coming in contact with the damp cobblestone. Reaching out, she let the cat sniff her as Saskia sat cross-legged next to her.  Back against a wall next to the docks, they looked like two vagrants huddled together against the cold, hiding in plain sight.

It was a friendly thing despite appearing so neglected, purring while it flopped down next to her and letting its eyes droop closed.  

“Don’t worry if I fall over and start to twitch; it’s happens,” she told Saskia.  After a quick centering technique, Natalie was able to mutter the words under her breath, and her vision went white.

When she blinked, she was looking at herself.  She turned her gaze to Saskia and gave a reassuring meow.  In turn, her partner gave her a hesitant thumbs up. Her new feline familiar was surprisingly okay with its body being possessed, and it trotted off towards the Ashvane docks with a few words of encouragement.

The guards reacted to the cat’s approach much the same way Saskia had.  Thankfully, they still let it pass. It was then that Natalie realized that she had no idea where to start.  The Ashvane Trading Co. had an expansive portion of Boralus’s docks to themselves. Priscilla really was the Lord Admiral’s closest companion, then, if she was able to hold all this waterfront without any issues.

The cat sniffed the air.  Its ears perked up.  _ Food! _

“Oh, I guess we could eavesdrop on some of the workers.  They might have information.”

Seeing was a tad difficult since the poor thing had the beginnings of cataracts in both eyes, but its nose was as powerful as any other feline’s.  The food it found, however, turned out to be a lot less amenable to Natalie’s human sensibilities. A bucket of clam chowder had been hurled into the back alley alongside other food scraps.  It was this that the cat went for, instead of the much fresher looking and smelling pieces of tuna. The goopy mess had to be at least a week old. Natalie shuddered and tried not to notice the stench.

_ Yum! _

“If you say so, buddy.”

It took a few minutes of licking before the cat was contentedly swiping its tongue over its whiskers.   _ Tasty.  Good snack.  I nap. _

“Could you look for some shiny rocks first?”

_ Shiny? _

“Yes, very shiny.  Very delicate.” She hoped the cat wouldn’t rub itself on a chunk of the stuff and accidentally blow up.  There wasn’t enough research to prove or disprove the likelihood of that scenario. Yet.

It ducked and dodged workers hefting boxes of various goods, trotting along without a care in the world.  What a life cats had. Traveling around the city, munching on plentiful leftovers and napping in the sunshine, getting affection from friendly passers by and having free range of every inch of their home.  Although this cat certainly didn’t receive much affection. Quite the opposite. It tugged at her heartstrings. Yes, the cat was hideous, but it was sweet. Besides, it wasn’t like Natalie could resist an inquisitive little meow and rumbling pur.

There was a warehouse in the back corner of the docks that, unlike the others, had two guards armed with spearguns stationed outside.  This was something that warranted investigation. Yet when the cat peered up at the guards, it was obvious that it wouldn’t be allowed to trot on in.  There had to be another way inside.

The right side of the building had a window, but it was too high up to reach.  The back held the same problem. Skirting around the perimeter, the cat searched high and low at Natalie’s behest for an opening.

On the left side, they found it.  A sealed barrel was situated just close enough that the cat could leap through the slightly-ajar window.  Hopping up, it wiggled its butt from side to side, muscles coiling in preparation to spring. With a little effort, it launched itself through the air and onto the tiny windowsill, then down into the warehouse.  And right into what they had been looking for.

Crates upon crates of Azerite were stacked in neat rows reaching almost to the ceiling.  There were easily several hundred pounds of the stuff. It was an amount that no scrupulous business venture had any… well, business… having.

Across the building was a desk with an open crate sitting in plain view atop it.  Perfect. The cat made its way over to the crate and said,  _ I sniff? _

“I mean I guess--”

_ I sniff. _

Azerite didn’t smell like anything in particular, mostly just earth.  The slight tang of salt suggested that this chunk had been exposed to ocean water.  Natalie wondered if there was an upwelling near Boralus.

_ I lick _ .

“No!”

The cat closed its eyes and swiped its scratchy pink tongue over the chunk.  It shuddered violently and squeezed its eyes shut, shaking its head in an attempt to clear it.  Yet when it opened its eyes once more, the cataracts were gone. It froze, unsure how to feel about its newly-restored vision, its tongue still out.

“...Do that again.  For science.”

The sensation of just waking up from a long nap in the sunshine washed over the cat, who yawned.  When it looked down again, Natalie was able to see the piece of parchment tucked under the crate. She asked the cat to pull it out so she could read the label.

“Hmm, Freehold?  Never heard of it.  But it looks like that’s where this Azerite is headed.”

“Hey!”

The cat yowled and scampered off as a dockworker swatted at it with a rolled-up newspaper.  Natalie wanted to reach out and grab hold of some reins at the speed that the cat was moving.  She bolted upright with a yelp when it slammed into her unconscious body, breaking the spell.

Saskia started next to her.  “You okay?” she squawked.

“Yeah, just, wow, cats run really fast.”  Speaking of which… she looked down and noticed that fur was starting to grow in the places it had been missing, and the bare skin had begun to heal.

Saskia sighed.  “We’re keeping him, aren’t we?”

She nodded vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i LOVE ugly cats. i picture natalie's new cat as that one cat from the "blink motherfucker!" video


	7. Stroking Some... Egos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Anduin's behest, Horace returns to Stormwind to provide updates for the nobles who pledged their financial support to the Westfall Revitalization Project.

Horace was back in Stormwind, bleary-eyed and running on more coffee than sleep, but confident.  With papers in hand, he entered Anduin’s office to see the other man deep in discussion with several of his advisors.  He was about to leave and return later when they happened to lock eyes, and Anduin lit up.

“Ah, Horace!  I’m glad you’re here--allow me to summon the others and we’ll get started,” he chirped.  Standing, he turned his attention momentarily back to the advisors. “If it’s alright with the rest of you, I’d like to pick this discussion up later today.”

“More work on Westfall?”  That was Sky Admiral Rodgers, hands clasped behind her back and head held high.

Anduin nodded.  “You all are more than welcome to attend, but your presence is not required if you have more pressing matters,” he offered.

The thought of also presenting for people of considerable military prestige made Horace squeamish, but he forced it down and instead bowed politely before walking off.

“You look tired,” Anduin noted.  “Are you feeling alright?”

Horace scratched the back of his head.  “I couldn’t sleep until I was absolutely sure everything was accurate,” he admitted.

“I know the feeling.  But I also know that you’re going to do exceptionally well,” he told him.

That was the hope, anyways.  The petitioner’s chamber was empty when they arrived, and it was there that Anduin pressed a chaste kiss to Horace’s lips for good luck.  While he stepped outside to ask the guards to gather the nobility, Horace was pulling smaller tables together. He winced and put a hand to his tender abdomen once they were all in place.

 _My body needs to chill out_ , he thought to himself.   _It’s been five months._

A warm surge of Light washed over him to take care of the soreness.  Anduin had returned to his side, accompanied by several well-dressed individuals.  “You should really get someone to help you with such things,” he chided quietly.

“It’s fine; I appreciate the concern, though.”  He lowered his own voice. “Who, uh… who is everyone?”

“The one with the long grey hair and gold doublet is Count Remington Ridgewell.  To his right in blue is Lord Bolten Vanyst, and his wife Lady Miriam Vanyst. Opposite her is Lord Erlgadin the Second, then finally Baron Aldous Lescovar.  His father was a Defias sympathizer.”

He doubted he was going to remember all of those names.  He was too nervous. Swallowing hard, he sifted through and straightened his papers.

Anduin put a gloved hand on his tense shoulder and whispered, “You’re going to do just fine.  If you get lost, just start stroking their egos. It works like a charm.”

He felt his heart warming, even if his confidence was still shaky at best.  They both turned their attention back to the seated nobles, and a fresh wave of butterflies made their way around Horace’s stomach.  Everyone was staring expectantly at him.

Thankfully, his partner began speaking first.  “Thank you all for taking the time to be here. We understand that your schedules are full, and will do our best to keep this meeting brief.”  He angled his body to the side, one hand behind his back and the other gesturing to Horace. “I would like to introduce you to Horace Lin, a paladin who had taken up organizing the project and is currently in charge of all operations.  He has prepared a series of reports for those gathered to view at their discretion, and will now speak on the progress of the Revitalization Project and how your immeasurable generosity is being put to use.”

With that, Anduin took the last remaining chair at the table, leaving Horace standing by himself and feeling very, very exposed.  Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yes, I, um, thank you, An-- King Anduin. And thank you to everyone here, for showing up and getting this project off the ground.  This definitely would not have happened without you.”

He abruptly noticed that his hands had a death grip on the reports.  His face flushing, he forced himself to let go and hand the stack to the nearest noble.  “I-I made one for everyone. Feel free to keep them if you want. Right now, the Westfall Revitalization Project is working on getting natural resources like wood and stone and, um, the like.  The druids that we were able to hire have started cleansing the land that was affected by the Legion’s attack. And the shamans have stopped the cyclones that were keeping everything so dry. It rained last week, and there was mud!  No one had seen that for years.”

It was incredibly difficult to tell if any of the people staring at him maintained a genuine interest in what he was saying.  Their poker faces were boring a hole through his head--at least that was how it felt, anyways. Were rooms in the keep usually this warm?  Dammit, he needed to think of something else to say. Right, plans.

“W-with what we’re gathering, we have plans to build a school and a hospital in Moonbrook.  After that, it’ll be houses, a town hall, and hopefully a new farmstead. All-all because of your generosity.  I speak for everyone in Westfall when I say thank you for all the funding you have pledged so far. It is doing a world of good, and I hope that we can count on your continued philanthropy.”

That sounded like enough.  He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together, brows furrowed anxiously.  “Are there any questions?”

The one noblewoman--he wanted to say Lady Finest but knew that wasn’t correct--adjusted her glasses and arched a skeptical eyebrow in his direction.  “And _I_ speak for everyone when I say it is a tad concerning that you have managed to consume so much of your funding at the rate you have.  What is currently your largest expense?”

Okay, this was a question he could answer.  This was fine. “Believe me, I’m surprised as well.  But right now, I would have to say that our largest expense is labor.  We’re extending opportunities for steady, honest employment and people are snatching it up left and right.  Especially homeless veterans.”

“Who is ‘we’?”  That was Count Ridgewell in his bright yellow shirt.

“Well, there’s me, and, um, for stone and ore and some of the manpower I’ve actually stuck up a business partnership with Vanessa Vancleef--”

That was the wrong thing to say.  Come to think of it, ‘wrong’ was a severe understatement.  Everyone’s heads snapped up from the papers to him, their expressions a mixture of livid and bewildered.

The count guffawed and threw his hands in the air, letting them crash back down on the table.  “Oh, fantastic! We’re giving our money to the leader of the Defias Brotherhood and her farm boy mouthpiece!”  He jabbed an accusing finger in Horace’s direction. “If you think for a _second_ that you’re getting so much as one copper from any of us, think again.”

There was resounding agreement from all the other nobles.  Except for Anduin. He stood abruptly, and the room went quiet once more.  “May I remind you all that Horace Lin is a veteran of the Legionfall _and_ Argus campaigns.  He nearly gave his life ensuring that the Burning Legion would not eradicate our entire planet, and worked as a mediator between champions of the Alliance and the Horde.  I have no shortage of reasons to dislike Vanessa and her Brotherhood, but I know that Horace is an intelligent man, and I trust his judgement.”

He felt as if he was going to pass out at any given second.  He kept his mouth shut on the fifty percent chance that opening it would result in further disaster.

The words of their king seemed to reign in the tempers of the gathered nobles, but they still looked furious.

“I understand and respect your judgement, Majesty,” began one of them, “but I simply cannot continue my philanthropy knowing that it will benefit such terrorists as the Defias Brotherhood.”

“Aye,” added Lady Vanyst.  “With respect, I wish to formally withdraw from continued sponsorship of the Westfall Revitalization Project.”

One by one, they all echoed the same thing.  Horace’s stomach sank down to his feet. Out of all possible scenarios, he hadn’t imagined this one, but it was definitely the worst.  He turned to his partner, who gave him a hesitant glance.

The room emptied shortly after.  He collapsed into one of the chairs, head in his hands.  “Light, _fuck me_ ,” he groaned.  “I spent two months in Helheim and over a year on the home planet of the Burning Legion, almost died, and that was still the scariest thing I’ve done.”

Anduin pulled his chair closer and sat next to him.  “How did your… business partnership… come about?” he asked.

“Vanessa just kind of shoe-horned her way into it,” he admitted.  “She makes a brick wall look like a pushover. But so many citizens in Westfall sympathize with them, and after a lot of the Project’s manpower had to leave, we were kind of in between a rock and a hard place.”

He turned his lead weight of a head towards Anduin.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And, thank you for defending me.”

“I meant what I said,” he insisted.  “Besides, if I managed to be civil towards Garrosh Hellscream, then I can manage to tolerate Vanessa Vancleef having a hand in this because I do trust you.  I know that you’ll do what’s best for Westfall. That’s why I chose to not simply hand this responsibility off to someone else while you weren’t looking. I believe in your heart, Horace.”

Horace slid his hand across the table, and Anduin took it, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “Did you know I grew up with her? I came here to train as a squire and no one told me Hope Saldean was actually Vanessa Vancleef until about three weeks ago.”

Anduin quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.  “What’s she like? I’ve only heard rumors of her from SI:7’s gossip.”

“Stubborn, and unpleasant, but good with kids.  After it rained she had a mud-ball fight with them.  And she’s freakishly good with names. I haven’t seen her mess up once, and she talks with hundreds of people.  When we were growing up on the Saldean Farmstead she was so shy and haunted. Now she’s a totally different person.  It’s kind of weird; she definitely takes some getting used to.”

“I hope that, if we ever meet, it will be on good terms,” Anduin said.  “In order to help Westfall, we need to put the deeds of our fathers behind us and start fresh.”

It was then that Horace remembered: Varian Wrynn had ordered Edwin Vancleef’s assassination.  Yeah, he wasn’t bringing Vanessa to Stormwind any time soon. Or ever, if he could help it.

“In the meantime, I will speak with Stormwind’s treasury and see what I can do to continue financing the Revitalization Project.  This war is very costly, but I’m sure there will be a way to keep everything running,” he added.

Horace leaned in, cupping Anduin’s cheek in his hand and planting a kiss to his lips.  “Make sure you actually sleep at some point, too.”

He received a light chuckle in reply.  “I could say the same for you.” Their lips met once more.  “I need to get back to my paperwork, but you can spend the night here if you wish.  Saskia’s room will be empty while she and Natalie are in Kul’Tiras.”

“Yeah, how are they?  I haven’t heard any news about the situation up there.”

Anduin bit his lip.  “They’re alive,” he said slowly.

He really didn’t like the sound of that.  “That’s a concerning lack of context.”

“It’s a long story.”  He ran a hand through the strands of hair near his face too short to tie back.  “Walk with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1/13/19: changed the chapter title from "Horace Strokes Some Egos" to "Stroking Some... Egos" because I thought it'd be funnier. Also added in a bit of dialogue.


	8. *Slaps Freehold* This Baby Can Hold So Much Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirate time, babey

“So, welcome to Freehold,” Saskia announced.  She slapped the side of a wooden building in the shape of a boat.  “This baby can hold so much crime.”

Natalie quirked an incredulous eyebrow.  “You’ve been here before?”

“Only twice.  Once for Uncrowned business and once because there’s a guy here who makes a killer rum.”

“Whatever happened with them?  Are they still the ‘sole protectors of Azeroth’?” she teased.

The rogue blew a raspberry.  “I’m sure that’s the image they’d like to maintain.  I’ve been ignoring their letters since I handed over the Dreadblades to Tethys.”

But she still kept their infamous sigil.  Waving it around had gotten them into Freehold in the first place.  If the Uncrowned knew about unauthorized use of their image, they didn’t seem to care.  Natalie thought of it at good riddance. She had visited the sewers once while Horace was on Argus and, after witnessing the types of people that lurked there, had decided never to return.

_ HE SHOULD HAVE RUN YOU THROUGH WITH THEM. _

Getting used to Saskia’s miniature Frostmourne was a slow process.  As far as they could tell, there were roughly ten distinct voices spitting their vitriol at the two of them.  Natalie tried to ignore their threats and curses as best she could.

Pulling the dagger out of its sheath, Saskia held it up at eye level and remarked, “I’ve always wondered if you can melt down saronite.”

_ I’LL MELT YOU DOWN. _

_ SO WILL I. _

“I’m getting less and less inclined to want to study that thing,” Natalie muttered.  She folded her arms across her chest. “Why do you even carry it around? Isn’t saronite a highly corruptive substance?”

Saskia shrugged.  “I can’t think of anywhere to put it.”

_ PUT IT UP YOUR ASS _ .

Buckling the dagger back onto her hip, she added, “Besides, if it’s in my hands, it can’t get into anyone worse’s.”

“I… guess that makes sense.”  That didn’t mean she had to like it.  She gestured to the greater portion of Freehold that lay before them.  “So, back to business. Where should we be looking?”

“Oh!  Right.  Wherever there’s guards, there’s usually important stuff, yeah?  Let’s start over there.” Saskia jerked her thumb in the direction of one such structure, a two-story built into the hillside in the shape of a frigate.

Despite the danger of this place and Kul’Tiras in general, Natalie couldn’t help but find their very maritime-based architecture charming.

She saw two pirates in red pea coats stationed outside their target.  Probing around with her arcane magics revealed a few traps, but none that she couldn’t dismantle.

Both guards stepped in front of the door, hefting their shotguns and demanding the women turn away.

Saskia sighed and flashed her sigil.  “Uncrowned, gathering information to kill Flint Fairwind, move along.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Natalie shut the door behind her.  As an extra precaution, she began weaving a quick magical lock to ensure their privacy.  She squinted at the thin, wispy lines and tried to remember the final component. “How did you know they would go for that?”

“About Fairwind?  He used to lead the Irontide Raiders,” Saskia explained.  “Did a decent job, but he was double-crossed by his first mate and left for dead after the mutiny.  The new captain really doesn’t like that he survived.”

“That’s a shame; he seemed like a good person.”  She yelped and shook her hand, sucking on the singed fingertip.  In place of the doorknob was now a charred hole. She quickly turned the deadbolt as the guards tried to force entry.

Heart skipping a beat at their loud pounding on the door, she joined Saskia in rifling through papers.  “Looks like I’ve cut our investigation short,” she warned.

“Don’t sweat it,” her partner assured her.  “We’ll just put on disguises. You want a hat?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Shrugging on a dark overcoat with red accent and affixing her new hat, she took Saskia’s hand, and they blinked out of the building.

Once safely away from the guards still attempting to enter the building--they would undoubtedly have to saw around the deadbolt and kick it down to get in--she asked, “Were you able to find anything?”

“Just these sharp new looks,” she replied.  “It was the quartermaster’s office.”

Unable to resist, she put one hand on her hip, the other gesturing to herself.  “Well? How do I look?”

“Like a siren’s song come to life, darling.”  With a hop and a flourish, the rogue extended her own hand.  “Shall we?”

Natalie giggled as the two linked arms.  “So, the Irontide Raiders have a very red theme.  Are the other primary colors taken?”

“Blue is taken by the Bilge Rats, if my memory serves me.  The Blackwater Brawlers have black, those rascals. And the Cutwater Corsairs decided to be a little avant garde with a dark green color scheme,” Saskia replied.

“Ah, yes, a very bold choice, but it does seem to suit them well,” she remarked, nodding sagely.  Lowering her voice, she added, “Do you think people just pick which one to join based on what name sounds coolest to them or does each one have their own set of values?”

“Are they like politicians desperate for relevance and attention?  Yes.”

She couldn’t help but laugh again, feeling bright and easy despite the obvious danger the pirates presented.  Although she could teleport the two of them away if need be. Wait, did she know the coordinates for any anchor points in Kul’Tiras?  Nope. Nevermind. Her mood soured.

They strolled around Freehold, being careful not to make eye contact with anyone and to only make innocuous chit-chat that wouldn’t get them shivved.  Saskia gestured with her thumb to an open-air bar, and Natalie let herself be lead over there. The gigantic barista, after being flipped a few silver, set down two bottles of a dark, fizzy liquid and turned back to his work.

Saskia smacked the caps off on the corner of the makeshift counter and clinked their bottles together.  “Cheers, love.”

Natalie blushed, bringing the bottle up to her nose and sniffing.  “Is this root beer?”

“The best there is,” her partner replied after a deep pull.

She took an inquisitive sip.  Then another, her eyebrows rising in delight.

“Right?” Saskia said.

She turned back to the barkeep.  “This is fantastic! Why don’t you sell it elsewhere?”

“I’m wanted for triple homicide,” came a frank reply.

“Oh,” she squeaked.  She cleared her throat.  “Uh, that’s a good reason.”

He grunted.

And thus, their search for members of the Ashvane Trading Company’s Azerite stashes resumed.  Natalie had a sneaking suspicion that the people they were trying to find would be hiding in plain sight.  After all, what sort of reputable trading company sent its employees to work out trade agreements with pirates?  Especially agreements involving archmages.

“You saw Irontides taking Jaina away, right?” she whispered.

Saskia nodded.  “I think we just need to start seeing how many of their buildings we can get into.  From what I gather, though, there isn’t a lot here that’s off-limits.”

“You can say that again.”  Was that hozen dangling from a balcony trying to flirt with a troll?  Was… was the troll blushing? She averted her eyes for the sake of sanity.

And in choosing instead to scan her surroundings, she noticed not the usual two, but four guards stationed outside a large, windowless building.  “That definitely doesn’t look suspicious,” she remarked.

Her partner followed her gaze.  Smirking, she asked, “Think you can get us in there?”

She took a deep breath and let her arcane eye extend towards the door to the building.  She let herself seep through the keyhole, spilling out onto the floor, and gasped. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling, were crates stuffed to the brim with Azerite.  Closer inspection revealed the remnants of shipping labels that had been ripped off. But she had a sneaking suspicion the Ashvane Trading Company was responsible for at least some of it.

Coming back to herself, she told Saskia.  “We can’t just let that stuff sit there. I highly doubt anyone in Freehold is using it for good.”

“What are you thinking?” the rogue wondered.

She hummed thoughtfully.  They certainly couldn’t  _ steal _ all of that Azerite.  Besides, it wasn’t like they could bury it and let Azeroth re-absorb it.  Was that even a possibility? It suddenly seemed like a worthwhile experiment.  No, she had to focus.

“Let’s blow it up,” she finally said.

“Fantastic!” Saskia replied.  With a gleam in her eye, she pulled out a drake’s head whistle from one of her belt pouches.  “I sent Darcy ahead of our ship. You do your thing, I’ll call him to pick us up.”

Once she left, Natalie began to weigh her options.  Obviously, as soon as she set off the explosion, they would be swarmed with angry pirates.  Not the safest situation to be in. And since she didn’t have a ley map of the area that told her where she was able to easily teleport to, that was no longer a viable option.  Fresh ire over separation from her grimoire made her groan.

Glancing to her right, she saw a large, winged blob growing larger in its approach.  Darcy. She met Saskia’s eye and nodded, stretching her fingers. Fireballs were doable, even if they took a fair bit of dexterity.

She began to draw the rune in the air.  In her periphery, she saw pirates readying their weapons as the proto-drake swooped closer to their hideout.  And in turning her focus back to what was in front of her, she saw the warehouse’s guards rushing towards her.

In one swift movement, she completed the rune and slammed her open palm into it.  A small fireball blitzed past them and through the metal door. The resounding explosion was… magical, in every sense of the word.  Natalie’s eyes widened and a smile bloomed across her face as every color of the rainbow surged forth from the warehouse. Chunks of Azerite sailed through the air and rained down upon Freehold, exploding on impact.  Absolutely glorious.

“Nat, up here!”

Saskia’s cry finally tore her attention away from the scene.  A rope trailed behind Darcy that she reached up for, letting herself be hauled up into the air.  She cast a quick blink spell into the saddle behind Saskia, but not before taking one last look at the chaos her one little fireball had wrought.  No way that Azerite could be used for ill, now.

She grinned, twisting around in the saddle and lifting her stolen tricorn hat in the air to wave goodbye at the pirates hurling bullets and insults in the trio’s wake.


	9. You Know I Had to Sell It to 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only a fraction of the money they were originally promised at their disposal. With the weight of the events in Stormwind on Horace's shoulders, he resigns himself to walking a darker path.

He trudged up the stairs of the Defias hideout in Moonbrook with the same sense of grim resignation as when he had boarded the Vindicaar to go to Argus, knocked three times on the door at the end of the hallway, then took a step back and waited.

He let out a deep sigh.  “Okay, you win. Let’s go to Booty Bay.”

A grin spread across Vanessa’s face.  “I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” she chirped.  “If we leave now, we can get there by in two days flat.”

He ended up delaying ‘now’ by a few hours.  There was still work for him to do with the Revitalization Project carpenters they had hired.  The whole group was well-versed in construction, with a few especially grizzled folks taking up positions as chief architects.  Horace had a sneaking suspicion that they were part of the original Stonemason’s Guild, but figured it was best not to ask. Some questions were better off remaining unanswered.

They presented him with blueprints for houses, a school, a hospital, and a town hall, as well as a list of supplies.  The wood, obviously, would come from their stake in Duskwood. The ores and stones could most likely be scraped out of the Deadmines.  The hope was that there were tools in Sentinel Hill that weren’t rusted over. If not, he supposed he could offer a few silver to people willing to lend theirs.  He approved the blueprints and went to start packing an overnight bag.

His hands fumbled with the clasp of the bag for a few moments before he stopped and realized that they were shaking.  Every muscle tensed and trembled as he stared at the bedroom wall. Going to Booty Bay was treason. A capital offense.  It was difficult to forget that his partner was the king--even if he couldn’t have cared less--but now Anduin would also be the king of the nation he was deliberately betraying.  He could see the headline now:  _ Local Monarch Technically Has Legal Obligation to Execute Boyfriend. _

Maybe he was overthinking things… but what if thinking that he was  _ over _ thinking things meant that he was actually  _ under _ thinking them!?

“Horace.”

He made an embarrassingly high-pitched noise and whirled around to see Vanessa in the doorway.  “Can’t we sell the Azerite to Stormwind instead?” he asked.

“You really think that Stormwind isn’t simply going to seize the mine as property of the crown?”

“...Yes.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Come on, the skipper’s ready for us.”

Trying and failing to take a deep breath, he followed her outside.  A short walk took them to a dock sticking out of the beach, the end of which bumped up against a small charter vessel.  Every sensible bone in his body froze him in the sand.

Already on board, Vanessa looked at him in askance.  “You wanna save Westfall or not?” she called.

The instant he boarded that ship, he was a traitor.  A bounty would be slapped on his head as surely as one was on Vanessa’s.  But the Westfall Revitalization Project was running out of funds. Fast. A problem Stormwind was no longer helping with.  And no money meant no school, no hospital, no town hall, no houses, no jobs, no  _ anything _ .  Westfall would continue to be a land of hopelessness and despair.

He had fought the Burning Legion and almost paid for Azeroth’s freedom with his life, but somehow, this was worse.  This wasn’t just a battle of good versus evil. Anduin was a good person. He was the one who had helped Horace get the idea up and running in the first place.  But Vanessa was good, too, in her own subtle way. Light, he didn’t want to choose, but…

He boarded the ship.

*

With the winds being favorable more often than not, the journey to Booty Bay was swift and uneventful.  In hindsight, however, it still would have been a good idea to bring something to do. Horace spent the two mornings running through his conditioning and strengthening routines.  

The first afternoon, when he got bored, he simply stood and stared at the lush coastline.  Stranglethorn Vale was an undeniably beautiful place to behold, and he found himself trying to pick out animals amidst the foliage.  Monkeys swung from tree to tree in search of fruit and bugs. Flocks of multicolored birds would burst forth from the canopy, their calls carrying all the way to the ship.  There were timid deer and scurrying little mammals and, at one point, he thought he saw a flash of orange and black stripes, but it was gone before he could be sure.

The Vile Reef that they sailed over held just as many interesting creatures.  This far south, the water was crystal clear. A rainbow coalition of fish swam through the corals beneath the ship, darting this way and that.  The sharks were a surprising sight at first, but Horace grew just as mesmerized by their movements. He wouldn’t have minded being a shark. There were no politics or financial struggles weighing on a shark.  There was just the knowledge of being very large, and having a lot of teeth.

A pod of dolphins decided to tag along on their voyage, much to the delight of the crew.  Everyone peered over the prow to watch leap and spin through the air without a care in the world.  One would swim fast and hard, dip down, them surge upwards, spiralling around and cutting back down into the water.

Yet for every tranquilizing aspect of their journey, there was a voice in the back of his head keeping him on edge.   _ Check if you’re being followed. _  He opened up a spyglass and scanned their wake.  Each time, he found nothing.

_ Look in the trees. _  All he saw were more animals and plants.  Not even a passing troll.

_ Attacks are harder to detect at night. _  He hardly slept, spending more time turning and wriggling in his hammock below deck than actually trying to rest.

On the third morning, the marine layer was so thick he could see neither the shoreline nor the opposite end of their skipper.  He heard the usual sounds of the birds and monkeys and the waves brushing up against the side of the boat. Sweaty palms gripped the deck’s railing and gazed out at nothing as he watched, listened, waited for any and all signs of trouble.

“We’re nearing Booty Bay,” came Vanessa’s voice.

He looked to his right and, true to her word, there was the tell-tale glow of a lighthouse piercing through the fog.  “Good. Let’s just get this done and get back before anyone notices.”

“I mean, our people are going to notice.  There’s no avoiding that. But I left Johnny Legowski in charge, so no one will know  _ why _ we’re gone,” she replied.

The thought of people getting curious made his stomach do flip flops.  If peasants started asking questions, then sure enough guards would as well.  And guards could report back to Stormwind.

_ Balance, Horace.  Remember balance. _  The creed he had taken up while on Argus hadn’t been very applicable lately, however.  He didn’t use the Light like he had during the war, and he certainly hadn’t come across any aberrations of the Void.  What he seemed to need at the moment was balance within himself. Or, in layman’s terms, he needed to calm the fuck down.  But that was easier said than done, especially under circumstances like these.

As the lighthouse grew closer, he focused on taking some deep breaths.  It wasn’t as if Booty Bay was Horde territory. It was just the shady, treacherous, and generally life-threatening port city of minor factions.

He was starting to feel a little green around the gills by the time their skipper sailed past the hulking, salt-scoured statue of a benevolent goblin spreading his arms out to incoming travelers.  His nausea partly morphed into confusion as he stared at it. Who exactly was that supposed to be?

“That’s Janeiro’s Point,” Vanessa explained.

“Janeiro?”

She shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.  “I dunno, some guy.”

The ship pulled into port.  The anchor plummeted to the water in much the same way Horace’s stomach plummeted to his feet.  Standing at the end of the gangplank were two people. The first was a goblin in a crisp white shirt and black vest, with perfect creases ironed on his pants.  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyebrows raised expectantly. The second was a tauren, garbed in a billowing ivory tunic and slim pants, complete with a tricorne skull and bones hat.

“Baron Revilgaz and Fleet Master Seahorn,” Vanessa whispered into his ear.  “Let me do the talking; I know how pirates work, and you look like you’re about to pass out.”

Despite her previous “negotiating” endeavor, he was more than content to let her lead.  He swallowed hard and descended the gangplank behind her.

“It’s wonderful to finally do business in person, Baron,” she declared, bending to shake his hand.

Horace shook the Baron’s hand next, then Fleet Master Seahorn’s, whose three massive fingers easily swallowed his entire hand in their grip.  “Pleased to meet you both,” he told them.

“Likewise,” Seahorn returned.

Meanwhile, Baron Revilgaz and Vanessa had already begun walking down the dock and into Booty Bay proper.  Horace found himself having to power walk to keep up with the tauren sea captain.

“So,” he said, trying not to belay any shortness of breath, “you’re in charge of all the ships around here?”

“Just the ones that Booty Bay owns,” came the reply.

“How many is that?”

“About fifty-five.  They’re all over the world, but we keep enough here to be able to defend the town if necessary.  In case you were planning anything.”

He chuckled uneasily.  “Nope. I’m just not sure what to talk about.”

The laugh was echoed.  “I will not tell Revilgaz to expect a dagger in his back, then.”

The sights, sounds, and smells of the port town soon silenced Horace, drawing his eye in all directions.  Booty Bay was so vastly different from Stormwind or Dalaran. There was a certain nonchalance to the people strolling along the wooden streets, but he picked up on the threats that lurked just beneath the joking insults and tilting bottles of alcohol.  These weren’t people to be trifled with. And although he was still very much on edge, he respected that energy.

“Some cheesed former employee recently tried to torch my office,” Baron Revilgaz explained, bringing Horace’s attention back to the task at hand, “so we won’t be going in there until my boys have finished updating security measures.  But I managed to pick out a pretty secure venue in which to hold our negotiations instead.”

“How secure are we talking?” Vanessa asked.

“The safest place in Booty Bay, my friend.”

They stopped outside a building painted with several different soft pastel colors.  Gesturing with a flourish, the Baron announced, “Grandma Gobbo’s Ice Cream Parlor!”

Once inside the shop, an elderly goblin woman waved, smiling behind her wide, thick glasses.  “Welcome back, boys!” she called.

“Miss Gobbo, it is always such a pleasure to see you,” Baron Revilgaz replied.  “Allow me to introduce to you Vanessa and, uh.” He turned around. “What did you say your name was, kid?”

Speaking directly to Grandma Gobbo, he gave a small, respectful bow, and said, “Horace, ma’am.  Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I’m always happy to meet new people.  Now you kids take your time deciding what you want.”

“The usual for me, please,” Baron Revilgaz told her.  To the three flanking him, he asked, “What’ll it be for you guys?  I’m buying--hah!”

“I hope you aren’t getting up to any unscrupulous business, young man,” Grandma Gobbo chided.

He put up placating hands.  “Not to worry, we’re keeping it all very above-board.  I would sooner cast myself into the bay than establish anything of ill repute in your shop!”

“Aw, aren’t you sweet,” she gushed.  “Your booth is empty right now; I’ll have it wiped down real fast.”

There were so many flavors to choose from… Horace wasn’t sure he’d be able to pick just one.  In the end, however, he ended up going with a flavor called “Highmountain tracks.” Mostly because it was hard to go wrong with chocolate.  Vanessa got mango strawberry, the Baron red velvet, and Seahorn elderberry and vanilla.

The booth they chose was situated in the back corner, near a row of potted flowers in the order of the colors of the rainbow.  Each pot was painted with little smiles, hearts, and the like. Away from the large storefront windows, Horace was able to feel a tad more at ease.  At least in the back corner everyone and their brother wouldn’t be watching them make this deal. He took a small bite of his ice cream. It was fantastic; a shame his stomach was still too knotted up for him to really appreciate it.

“I brought the original contract you sent,” Vanessa began.  From her leather messenger bag, she procured the bound stack of papers, sliding them forward.  “I do have a few slight changes I’d like to propose, but otherwise this all seems fair.”

“Of course I’m open to all input from my business associates.”

“Excellent.  I’d like to start with section three…”

Horace watched.  And listened. And contributed when appropriate.  He asked questions and paid close attention to their answers.  Both Baron Revilgaz and Fleet Master Seahorn were more than generous in their accommodations.  Azerite was  _ the _ resource to have, after all, and they wanted to have a lot of it.  He didn’t want to know what they planned to use it for. It was bad enough that this whole thing was happening.

This time, Vanessa was a superb negotiator.  The quaint environment made it easy to be relaxed in conversation, even when both parties disagreed with how they should settle a particular piece of their puzzle.  The four of them laughed, joked, and, ultimately, came to fair conclusions. Two copies of their new contract were written up, and suddenly Horace was presented with a thick fountain pen.

His hand trembled as he held the pen tip over the parchment.  It was almost over. All he had to do was write his name, and he would officially be a traitor.  He swallowed hard against the cotton in his mouth. Before he could think any more on the implications, he had plunged the pen down, scrawling out his full name in large, looping script.

The single scoop of Highmountain tracks wanted to make a reappearance the entire time they were wrapping up the talks and saying their goodbyes.  He still made sure to wave to Grandma Gobbo and thank her, however. She was such a nice lady.

His legs had become coltish with adrenaline by the time he ambled up the gangplank of their skipper.  The Baron and Fleet Master Seahorn were already walking away before the anchor was pulled up, and he slumped against the railing.  He hugged his middle and stared out at the horizon. Every fiber of him was filled with regret. Light, he felt horrible.

“That was surprisingly easy,” Vanessa noted.

He looked at her.  “I don’t know how much a deal with goblins is worth,” he said shakily, “but I trust you.”   _ I think _ .

“I hate the bad rap that goblins get,” she grumbled.

The sails were unfurled, and the ship lurched into motion.  Horace decided that it was best to sit for the time being.

“What does your precious boyfriend think of them?” she wondered.

“He says it’s hard to see them as charming--”

“If I ever hear him say that I’m gonna shove my foot up his ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my goodness, wow, 200 hits! thank you to everyone who's been reading, i really appreciate it. i am kind of curious though: did you start with the totally righteous bro while it was still being updated, or did you find this when that had ended and this had begun? i'd love to hear from you guys!


	10. I Don't Believe They Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalie and Saskia begin their search for Lady Jaina Proudmoore, and end up becoming quickly distracted.

Taelia sat across from Natalie in the Harbormaster’s Office, chin resting in her hands, absolutely enamored as the mage recounted growing up in Tanaris.  There wasn’t an excessive amount to talk about--she and her parents had returned to Dalaran when she was seven--but it was still fun to reminisce.

“Someone would always tell me when the bronze dragons were flying overhead,” she explained.  “I would instantly drop whatever I was doing to watch.”

“I’ve heard dragons are massive,” Taelia said.

“Oh, they’re gigantic!”  She chuckled to herself. “I didn’t realize they were sentient until I was older, so I decided to give them names.  The same way you’d name a dog or cat.”

“That’s adorable,” the squire laughed.

“Speaking of which…”  She gave her lap a pat, and the scraggly harbor cat--which she had decided to name Grimoire, Grim for short--leaped up, pressing his head against her stomach and purring.  “I think it’s time for your treatment.”

Retrieving a wrapped hunk of Azerite from her shoulder bag, she moved part of the cloth to the side and allowed Grim to sniff, then lick, the solidified essence.

Taelia gave her a concerned look.  “Is that safe?”

Three licks was all she allowed the cat before the hunk was safely tucked away once more.  “You know, I was skeptical at first, but I think that Azerite might have some curative properties.  His cataracts are gone, and his coat has started to grow back. I’ll have to find more willing participants, of course, but I think this could be really beneficial.”

“That’s, um… fascinating?  I’ve never been much of a science person, but good for you!”  She gave her a thumbs up and a puzzled smile.

“Babe, you ready?”

Natalie tilted her head back and accepted a quick kiss from her partner.  “Course.”

Saskia gestured to the cat.  “Are we bringing Death Grimace?”

She deadpanned at her.  “You know that’s not his real name,” she chided.

“I thought that’s what Grim was short for?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was still a good natured smile on her face.  “Anyways, the sooner we find Lady Jaina, the better. The Drustvar coast is isolated; it seems like a good place to hide someone.”

Across from her, Taelia frowned.  “Oh, are you going to Drustvar? You should really take some extra protection with you; there’s rumored to be witches.”

“I have twenty-three knives on my person at all times,” Saskia replied flatly.

“Witches?” Natalie wondered.  “You mean mages?”

Taelia shook her head.  “No, witches. They work in secret covens to spread curses through the land.”

“Yeah, that’s what they used to say about the Kirin Tor.”

“Listen, I promise you, it’s dangerous business.  These aren’t like your mainland mages; they’re evil,” the squire insisted.  “The city guard’s armory is right around the corner. At least let me get you some extra equipment.”

“I  _ am _ always looking to expand my knife collection,” Saskia said, nodding slowly.

“Unless you can get onto Lady Jaina’s ship and bring me back the priceless grimoire that’s currently sitting on there, we’re pretty set as far as gear goes,” Natalie replied.

“...Is a greatstaff close enough?”

“Yes.”

*

Seated atop her shaggy draft horse, Natalie inspected the weapon she had been able to borrow from the armory, running her hand over the polished wooden anchor at the top.  “Kul’tirans sure do love their maritime imagery,” she remarked.

“It’s not a phase, mom,” Saskia insisted, throwing her voice, and Natalie laughed.

They had decided that Grim would remain with Taelia, who promised to take good care of him.  It would be easier to focus on the task at hand without having to worry about their new furry companion getting lost or injured.  

Through the trees, they could see the outline of buildings, sticking out from the hilltop.  Natalie leaned forward in the saddle as her mount began to pick its way up the rocky slope. Cresting the rise, she found herself momentarily taken by surprise.  Propped up against the tree was a massive wooden effigy, draped in ragged crimson cloth. There was an unmistakably metallic odor coming from it; she tried not to think about who the unfortunate donor had been.

Yeah, she was definitely lighting that on fire.  She drew the rune in the air and whisked it away, and the effigy burst into flames.  “I am so over the concept of witches,” she groaned.

Her partner shrugged.  “Tis the season.”

“ _ YOU _ !”

Up ahead was a small crowd of people at the edge of the settlement.  One of the townsfolk had a pitchfork pointed at her, his eyes wide and brows furrowed in genuine horror.  “T-that was witchcraft! You’re a witch!” Next to him, a mother hid her children behind her, shaking with fear.

“I’m a  _ mage _ .  Witches are what people dress up as for Hallow’s Eve,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest.

“But you can do magic!  You must be the reason we’re cursed.”

She rolled her eyes to the heavens above.  “The only curse here is the curse of stupidity.  Witches. Aren’t. Real.”

The instant the words left her mouth, a bolt of… some sort of energy, she couldn’t quite discern what kind exactly, rushed past her head and collided with a nearby tree.  She yelped and spun around, still feeling the chill of the caster’s magic on her face.

“There!  In the forest!” shouted one of the villagers.

She locked eyes with a hunch-backed, decrepit old woman at the treeline, whose threadbare shawl fluttered lazily in the breeze to reveal dead, bluish skin.  For a moment, she was frightened by the smoldering white eyes and razor grin. Then she let loose an exasperated groan. “You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me.”

With the witch came a small army of wooden, animal-shaped constructs, each with a sickly blue mist emanating from their insides.  Saskia unsheathed her daggers and sprang towards a canine one.

“See, I told you!  Them’s witches!” the man called to her.

Turning her head, she fixed him with a baleful glare and made a lewd gesture.  She ignored him equally lewd response and thought to herself,  _ Sheep time. _  The rune was simple enough to draw in the air, and she sent it hurtling in the direction of the witch.  It was a bullseye. Obviously. And when the arcane smoke settled, a fluffy white sheep was crying out in confusion.

“A witch who hunts witches…?” the man gasped.

“Keep it up and you’re next,” she snapped, and the villagers fell silent.

The constructs began to collapse all around her partner.  Natalie hummed thoughtfully. The witch’s magic seemed to sustain then, and a polymorphed witch was incapable of accessing her magic.  She would have to keep that in mind.

Saskia strolled up to her, wiping her daggers clean and flashing her an inquisitive look.  “So…?”

“Don’t.  Say it. Please.”

“Roger that.”

*

Their horses carried them away from the “cursed” settlement shortly after.  The villagers weren’t exactly sure if they should say goodbye or just be glad that they didn’t get sheeped as well.  Natalie only remembered that polymorph spells wore off after about a day or so by the time they were several miles into their journey.

The deeper the two ventured into Drustvar, the more the hair stood up on the back of Natalie’s neck.  She wondered how many similar entities existed in these woods, with their ancient and gnarled trees and unseen creatures scuttling through the thorns.  It was easy to see how the rumors of evil came about.

“It’s starting to get dark,” Saskia remarked.  “We should look for some place level to camp.”

“Agreed.”  In truth, she was beginning to regret not having a decent map of the area.  Darkness descended especially quickly in the forest, but she wouldn’t have minded riding for a little while longer past sunset if it meant that they could make it to another settlement to sleep in.  But according to the shoddy one she brought, they were about a third of the way to a place called Arom’s Stand. With luck, they would be able to reach it by tomorrow evening.

She twisted around to stash the map back in her saddlebag.  When she faced forward again, a glimmer of white caught her eye.  “Do you see that?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Yeah,” Saskia replied slowly.  “Weird. The horses don’t seem bothered by it.”

Indeed, both of their mounts had their ears flipped forward, their strides even and quiet.  “Should we investigate?” she continued, although she would have gone ahead regardless of her partner’s answer.

“I think so.  Who knows, maybe we’ll get to break up some weird human sacrifice.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” she warned.

The closer they drew, the more she wanted to tense up.  Yet the aura of this place was unlike that of the rest of Drustvar.  It was tranquilizing, fresh and clean, like the air after a spring rain.  Curiosity piqued, she let her horse continue on.

It was a glade, of all things, with a gentle, clean stream running through it.  The grass here was lush and dark, and there were deer grazing nonchalantly. Rabbits hopped to and fro, scooting out of the way at an easy pace when the two horses walked by.  Natalie swung down from her perch, stretching her saddle-sore legs and back. 

“I don’t think we’re in any danger here,” she remarked.

_ Correct _ .

The silvery voice echoed from the other side of the glade.  Surrounded by forest creatures, a great silver stag inclined his head.  Natalie gasped softly, they gave a small curtsy, while Saskia saluted him.

_ Set your burdens aside.  Rest. You are safe under my watch. _

A part of her was still trying to process that a deer was sentient and speaking to her, but another part of her had had a long day of travel, and was too tired to do much else except soak up the peaceful nature of this place.  “Thank you,” she said. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

Again, the stag inclined his head.  Natalie and Saskia set about untacking their horses and currying dry their sweat-matted hair.  There wasn’t a proper space to get a fire going, but between the soft padding of the grass beneath her bedroll and her thick wool overcoat, she found herself content.  Especially considering that she was curled up with the warm body of her partner.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw glinting blue and gold.  The Alliance? She sat up to get a better look, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“What is it?” Saskia mumbled.

No, it wasn’t the Alliance.  “There’s Azerite here,” Natalie whispered.

The rogue attempted to pull her back down.  “It’ll be here in the morning, love.”

So could excavators.  A glance across the river showed the glade’s creatures settling down for the night.  If either faction came across the deposit… She shivered, but not from the cold. Her sigh became a little cloud carried off on the breeze, and she lay back down.

 

She didn’t quite remember waking up, which led her to conclude that she was dreaming.  Her boots were sinking into a fresh layer of snow. Taking a few steps forward, she assessed her surroundings.  She was in a mountainous area; on the island of Drustvar, based on the forest below. Thankfully, her dream self wasn’t affected by the frosty air sweeping through the area.

The hope was that, because she knew that this was a consequence of the R.E.M. stage of her sleep cycle, she could control her actions--because who  _ wouldn’t _ want to lucid dream?  But after trying to grow wings, turn herself into a troll, and conjure a unicorn, she began to think that the author of “The Lucid Dream and You!  Learn How to Wear a Thousand Faces” may have been full of shit.

She blinked, and the scene changed.  There were people with her on the mountain now, Alliance and Horde, all engaging in some sort of skirmish.  She gasped and recoiled as an orc was struck down. They fell to the ground and lay completely still, and the snow began to turn red.

Intermingled with the combatants were goblin and gnome miners.  Every strike at a node of Azerite sent a stab of pain through her chest.  She wrapped her arms around her middle and curled in on herself, wide eyes unable to see anything beyond the senseless chaos of greed and conquest.

“ _ Help me! _ ”

The desperate scream rang in her ears, but where it had come from her or someone else was a mystery.

 

She jolted awake, subsequently rousing the woman still cuddled close to her.  Morning light filtered through the trees of the glade. Their horses were contentedly grazing by the river, and the stag and his herd were moseying about.  Anxiety from her dream lingered as she lay back down, scrubbing her face with a hand.

Saskia reached out and smoothed Natalie’s hair.  “Are you okay?” she asked.

She nodded.  “Just had a bad dream.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

She did, though it didn’t exactly make her feel any better to do so.  “It was so  _ weird _ .  I don’t know why I would’ve dreamed about someone very vividly bleeding out.”

“Maybe it was a prophetic vision,” Saskia suggested.

“Prophetic vision?” she giggled.  “More like I’m stressed because the world of dying.”

They broke their fast on more rations, both somewhat guiltily trying to hide the dried strips of venison from their hosts.  Once finished, they washed up in the stream, refilled their canteens, and prepared to leave. With a bow, they thanked the deer for their hospitality.

_ All who seek peace are welcome here.  Travel safe, and beware the witches of this wood. _

Natalie’s eye twitched.  “Of course.”

Before they left the glade, she stood by the Azerite node and cleared her mind.  If she could at least disguise the node, there would be less of a chance of people discovering it.  She took a deep breath and extended her hand. Nothing. She had no idea what the illusion spell was.  But good news, it was written down in her currently inaccessible grimoire! Groaning, she searched around for some ground cover.  Piling up some dead brush would have to suffice.

They rode off in relative silence.  The residual unease of her nightmare clung stubbornly.  Magni Bronzebeard spoke for Azeroth now, that was common knowledge.  Yet could the world soul be trying to reach out to others as well? And if so, why her, of all people?

The sun climbed higher into the sky and made the air more tolerable before it gradually began to descend once more.  Natalie kept a careful eye on their surroundings, absently worrying her lip. To her left, she noticed, was a mine, whose carts and entrances were buried under a thick layer of snow that rose up far beyond the treetops.  She hummed to herself. Could it be?

“Are those the mountains from your dream?” Saskia prompted.

She steered her horse off the trail, and her partner followed.  As they drew closer and she could better see through the canopy, however, she was quick to pull back on the reins.  Giant spiders lurked just beyond the shadows of the mine. Gross. Her eye trailed higher up. A goblin shredder was perched, half-visible, at the top of the hill.  Beyond that were scraggly mountain peaks.

“Yeah, yeah this is it,” she said.  Turning her gaze to the right, she eventually added, “I think I see a way up.”

*

This was crazy.  Absolutely one hundred and ten percent bonkers.  Her heart was fluttering in her chest as she crouched next to Saskia behind a snow bank.  “Are you sure about this?” she whispered, secretly hoping that she would say no.

“Oh yeah, I love being able to sow chaos amidst the fields of capitalist greed.”  She raised her eyebrows in askance. “Are you?”

“I just… I want them to stop!  These people  _ have _ to know what they’re doing to Azeroth is wrong, right?”

“Right.”

“I want to believe that people wouldn’t knowingly destroy an entire planet just for military dominance, but…”  She sighed. “No killing. We just need to wreck their shop, then it’s back to finding Lady Jaina.”

Saskia’s eyes gleamed excitedly.  “I’m right by your side.”

The two poked their heads over the snow bank.  Closest to them were several shredders. Mooks guarded them, but they were known for their ability to take a beating.  Come to think of it, they were also known for the beatings they  _ gave _ .  That could be bad news.  Natalie would be able to polymorph a few, but she needed to be conservative with her mana reserves.

A bright flash whited out her vision.  She blinked against the afterimage and saw a blur of ginger hair whisk by.  Several goblins sounded an alarm, and suddenly the Horde encampment sprang to life.

Thinking fast, Natalie drew a fire rune in the air and blasted it towards the center shredder.  The explosion set off the rest like kernels of synchronized popcorn, instantly melting the snow around them.  Those were the only ones she was able to completely destroy, however. People were quickly piling into the rest, and guards were hurrying towards her and Saskia, who had vaulted atop a shredder and was currently riding it like a bucking bronco.

She focused n on the orcs charging through the deep snow.  She had never attempted a mass polymorph spell before. That alone was almost enough to deter her, but hey, nothing was as motivating as a tight deadline.  She multiplied her variables, added in a mental ‘if orc, then sheep’ statement, and hoped that she wouldn’t create an abomination.

When the arcane dust settled, ten ruminants with orcish heads stood stock still, dazed and confused.  They didn’t seem to be in pain, just… concerned… at their current predicament. “Oops.”

One of them realized that she was still standing there.  “Hey!” they barked, and ten orc-sheep continued their charge.

She bolted.  Chances were that she wouldn’t be able to outrun a sheep--cloven hooves were much better at traversing difficult terrain--but a short blink forward gave her some breathing room.

Saskia was gazing at her creations with wide-eyed awe.  “Did you do that  _ on purpose _ ?”

“No!” she squawked.

The rogue lobbed another flash grenade at her pursuers.  “Please learn how to do that on purpose.”

Luckily for the goblins, they were sitting at the top of their mechanisms.  Natalie shot bolt after arcane bolt at the hearts of the shredders. Their pilots would quickly eject their seats and float to safety.  Saskia, meanwhile, took a more hands-on approach, picking up goblins and hurling them out of the cockpits so that she could rip up the wiring.  And though Natalie wasn’t an immensely religious person, she certainly prayed hard that her partner wouldn’t be electrocuted.

Saskia had left her with a pouch of grenades that she now deployed liberally, stunning the guards so that she had the chance to blink away and continue casting.  It was a dangerous, absolutely stupid pattern. Sweat dripped down Natalie’s face and her chest heaved from the exertion, but she knew in her heart that direct action was the only way to help Azeroth.  In the heat of this bloodless battle, Natalie Rashid felt righteous. Death and killing made her heart ache and her skin crawl, but this? This she could do. She wondered absently if it would be possible to make a career out of polymorphing.  Surely there were people who wanted to be druids without putting in the time or effort… 

“Incoming!”

Dammit, she had let the orc-sheep get too close.  Bringing her hand in an upward arc, she brought a wall of ice and oof, that had used way more of her mana than she would have liked.  She was breathing hard as she happy prospector-danced her way through the thick snow to safety. And, unfortunately, right into the Alliance blockade.  Well, no time like the present. She sent a tony fireball into the center of the ballista, shattering it. Soldiers and miners alike came rushing out of their camp to investigate the disturbance.  She needed to make this quick. The Dark Iron mole machines went up in flames faster than people were able to register that they were being attacked by one of their own. They gaped at her and Saskia as the two rained destruction down upon them.  One of the gnomes loaded a shotgun and pointed it in Natalie’s direction. Realizing that her time was up, she pulled Saskia towards her and hoped that her blink spell would take them somewhere safe.

 

Thankfully, it did, and she even managed to land them within about a hundred yards of their horses.  But the lack of mana in her system quickly caught up with her, and her coltish legs buckled. 

“Woah, there!” Saskia said, holding onto her arms as she sat in the dead leaf litter.  “You still with me?”

She nodded, panting too hard to eek out a response.  Her pulse raced from both exhaustion and excitement. Well, maybe not excitement.  Something along those lines.

Her partner put one arm around her shoulders and another under her knees, picking her up as if she weighed nothing.  Natalie couldn't help but notice her very well-developed biceps beneath her leather armor.

“We should ride for a little ways, just to make sure we've ditched them,” Saskia suggested, and Natalie bobbed her head in agreement despite wanting very much to flop down and take a nap.

“Are we going to hang for this?” she finally asked.

“Nah, well-connected people get away with everything.”

She laced her fingers behind her partner’s neck.  “I think that applies to one of us more than the other,” she teased.

“Gerard definitely won't be sad to see me go.  Then he just has to get rid of you and Horace and he'll be free to force Anduin to fuck his daughter.”

“Saskia!” she gasped.

“Oh, you  _ know  _ he's desperate for a grandson.  Although I've heard that Lorna and Tess are going to elope at some point,” she replied frankly.

Natalie nodded.  “Good for them.” After a moment, she added quietly, “I'm still really on the fence about how acceptable our actions were.  Or whether it'll actually make a difference.”

“Hey, don't sweat it.  We both know that this newest faction pillow fight is wrong.  You said it yourself: Azeroth’s life needs to come first.”

“Yeah…”  She sighed.  “I have to admit, it was pretty fun to blow stuff up.”

“Gods, I love you.”


	11. Danger Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horace is stressing out. Meanwhile, Natalie and Saskia are stressing other people out.

For the first time in years, the people of Westfall seemed happy.  The opportunity for honest, steady work with fair pay was far better than languishing in the sun with no hope for even a decent meal or a safe place to sleep.  Seeing people’s determination, their renewed vigor and zeal, secretly helped Horace justify going behind Anduin’s back.

The distant sound of waves crashing upon the shore echoed all around him as he stepped out into the pre-dawn fog, hefting the wooden training sword in his hand.  It felt like forever since he had taken the time to practice. He assumed a defensive stance, moving his weight onto the balls of his feet and lunging into a forward thrust.  Not bad, but it was obvious that he was rusty. He shifted back and tried again, focusing on his grip and balance, then took a step forward and spun, bringing his sword down in an arc.  Back and forth across the dew-dusted earth he moved, muscle memory quickly taking the place of actual thought. He worked through drills he had performed for years in the paladin order, stringing sequences together until beads of sweat trickled down his face.

He stopped abruptly, straining to listen over the beating of his own heart.  Someone was there. His whole body tensed as he once more slid into a defensive stance.  Eyes darting from side to side, he tried and failed to find anyone who could be watching him.  Yet the marine layer was thick; someone could be standing a scant twenty feet from him and he would be none the wiser.  He took a step back to the Defias hideout. Light, it was like being in Helheim again. The rational part of his brain knew that the kvaldir were still trapped down there with their dead queen--he had seen the life slip from her eyes, he knew she was dead, and therefore powerless--but the memories of that horrible place lingered.

Slowly but surely, he backed up to the hideout’s entrance.  He took one last, long look at his surroundings. No one. He breathed deep and turned around.  Just as he did, however, a man appeared in the doorway. Both of them let out a cry of surprise, Horace reflexively tightening his grip on the training sword.

“Watch where you’re swingin’ that thing around, mate!” the man said, quickly recovering his composure and making his way outside.

Horace managed to get out an apology, his heart once again pounding.  He took the stairs two at a time to try and burn off some of the excitement racing through his system.  Shaking his head, he opened and shut the door to his room and let the practice weapon clatter to the floor.  He sank heavily onto his straw mattress, scrubbing his face with his hands. He knew that this was because of stress.  Their entire operation could be discovered and shut down at any given moment, and everything they had accomplished would be ruined.  Westfall would never rise above the shithole it currently was, and he and Vanessa would both either die or spend the rest of their lives in prison.  It wasn’t the easiest situation to cope with.

“Horace, you in there?”

Speaking of Vanessa…  “Yeah,” he groaned, and winced at how his tone sounded.  Amending it, he added, “Come in.”

A nice, thick stack of papers was tossed into his lap.  “I need you to go around and see what supplies people still haven’t gotten.  Our buyers are sending a boatload of money for this next batch of Azerite and I’m trying to decide how much we can put towards the hospital.”

“So glad you’ve decided to take over someone else’s legal project and make it the exact opposite,” he replied sarcastically.

“Your legal project that was  _ failing _ ,” she retorted.

“It only started ‘failing’ when I was stupid enough to tell people I was working with you,” he snapped.

She glared  _ balefully _ at him.  “Go do your job, Lin.”

Again, he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and his irritability turned inward.  Puffing out a deep sigh, he set the papers aside while he stretched. The scar complained less than before; the one truly positive improvement in his life at the moment.  Of course he liked being able to help people--he had long before he donned the paladin’s colors--but this was a whole other world. His skin had finally cleared up after his year on Argus, and yet he could feel, deep in his soul, that there was a fresh stress storm just waiting to erupt on his face.

_ Okay, count to ten, go interact with people _ , he told himself.

People in the Deadmines were bustling about under the watchful eye of a few senior engineers.  He approached one of them, a grizzled older woman with short-cropped white hair and an even mixture of scars and wrinkles.

“How can we help you, Lin?” she asked him.

He presented her with writing materials, asking her to jot down anything she felt that her workers were currently lacking.  She handed it back to him with relatively few items. Looking from the list and back to her, he said, “You sure that’s it?”

She shrugged.  “We have all the tools we need.  Once you start reinforcing standard metals with Azerite things stop breaking.  But we need more lumber; several support beams are unstable, and I’m not going to make people work if the roof’s ready to fall on their heads.”

“Right.  I’ll see what I can do,” he told her, and made for another spot deeper in the mines.  Now that there was actually light, he felt more at ease down here. The only part that bothered him was the quiet.   _ Things _ lurked in the silence.  Bad things.

The other engineers had much the same spiel for him.  The Deadmines had been sacked and then left neglected for so long that it was no longer as sturdy or safe as it should be.  Nothing was about to collapse soon, but there were cracks in the old wood that would eventually mean trouble. There were also suggestions to add some variety to the meal selection.  Apparently people could, in fact, get tired of Westfall stew.

He made his way back up to the surface and to each of the workstations in Moonbrook.  The smith wanted some ore from the mines, which was an easy fix. The crew working to build the hospital had already submitted a request last week.  Finding out that they had gone to Vanessa instead of him brought a fresh twinge of ire. He really needed to establish some boundaries with her.

A wiry man approached him, fanning himself with his straw hat.  “I was a field medic for the Westfall Brigade,” he explained, “n’learned a good bit about doctorin’ people up.  Figured I should give you a list of bandages and whatnot we’ll be stockin’ this place with.”

“Yeah, of course.  Here, I have paper for you,” Horace replied.

“Much obliged.”  The man’s hands trembled as he scrawled down whatever came to mind.

“You said Westfall Brigade,” he prompted.  “Did you know anyone named--”

“Don’t ask me about Northrend!” the man spat out quickly.  He shoved pencil and paper back at him and walked away in a hurry.

Startled and confused, Horace shrugged and straightened out the sheet.  There were probably a lot of gruesome reasons to not want to speak about one’s experience in Northrend.  Still, it would have been nice to hear that the man had known his uncle. The death of James Lin had been hard on his family, like so much else.  In a strange way, his passing hurt Horace more now that he, too, had been to war. He would have been an empathetic ear to swap stories with. Most of the people he was surrounded by now were probably familiar with the horrors he’d experienced, but his uncle had been his go-to for advice when he didn’t want to ask his parents.  Everyone else seemed as though they tried very hard to keep the past out of their minds. Maybe he should try to do the same. Besides, he didn’t want his family to know. They had already worried too much about him when he was away. No doubt that worry would increase tenfold if he told them how he had stood and watched the Garothi… 

He continued to go from group to group, pestering and prodding, and was quick to receive bad news.

“These are the last of our rain barrels,” the quartermaster informed him, tapping them with his boot.  As his name suggested, Johnny “Legs” Legowski was an absolute giant of a man. Even if he wasn’t very broad, no one was willingly picking a fight with him.  Which, incidentally, made him the perfect person to guard the water supply.

“Right, but we have the wells,” Horace reminded him.  When he was met with silence, he added, “We do have the wells, don’t we?”

“They’re giving more mud than they are water, unfortunately.”

Dammit.  “Maybe we can get one of the shamans to come back,” he said, but shook his head.  Those they had contracted had already gone back to Silithus or back to war. Their availability was highly unlikely.  He ran a hand through his hair.

“If you don’t mind me making a suggestion,” Johnny began, “I think we should try and create an irrigation or aqueduct system with the Elwynn River.”

An idea that, of course, Vanessa Vancleef had planted in his head.  A headache started to brew right smack in the middle of his brows. “I’m going to weigh our options.  Thanks, Johnny,” he called over his shoulder.

Legs gave a two-fingered salute off the side of his head and returned to his chair and book.

Vanessa was sitting atop a barrel in the hideout, laughing with a few of the miners.  Her smile fell the moment she saw Horace’s disgruntled expression. “Let’s walk and talk,” she suggested, and, before she got a response, she was up and moving away.  “Did Johnny tell you about the water supply?”

“Yep,” Horace snipped.

“Look, I can tell you didn’t come to me for a civil conversation.  We can work this out when you’ve cooled down,” she told him.

True, he  _ was _ angry, and his thinking was a little clouded, but he had a decent list of things he wanted to get off of his chest right then and there.  “We can work this out now,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. They had stopped out of earshot of any bar patrons; he just needed to keep his voice down.  “I don’t want you taking over the Westfall Revitalization Project. Do you know how many weeks Anduin and I put into getting everything together? How many late nights and negotiations?  I really don’t appreciate you just waltzing in here and acting like this is your idea.”

She levelled an even gaze at him, neither angry nor hurt.  “You want to handle everything on your own, then?” she wondered.

“I want to be the one making the final decisions!  The lumber in Duskwood, the Azerite, the water supply, everything.  I know you told Johnny to convince me to start diverting the river.”

She shrugged.  “Caught me red-handed.  You know that’s what needs to happen.”

Dammit, he did.  He took a deep breath in through his nose and puffed it out through his mouth.  A sudden tiredness swept through him. “I really, truly hate that it does.”

“I know,” she said simply.  “If it makes any difference, I took charge of Defias-related matters because they’re my people.  I know how they think, what they want, and who they trust. They’re still warming up to you.

“I don’t really give a rat’s ass about your boyfriend, but I value your opinion.  That doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate being snapped at, however.”

Chagrin washed over him, and he averted his eyes.  “I’m sorry. This is… this is a lot. I’m so desperate for it to go right,” he sighed.

“A bump on a log could see how strung-out you are.  It might help if you actually start taking care of yourself.”  She gestured with a tilt of her head to the kitchen. “Come on; we can start planning over some lunch.”

*

Natalie was quick to realize that she thoroughly enjoyed blowing things up.  And Azerite made some impressive explosions.

After their stint in Drustvar, she hadn’t had any more bizarre not-visions, though her gut feeling was that she and Saskia had only lessened Azeroth’s suffering.  There was much more work to be done. Kul’tiras was a sizeable archipelago, with lots of ground to cover.

“We should make a pit stop in Freehold,” she declared over breakfast one morning.  “Their shipping records can tell us where to go next.”

No doubt the pirate hangout would remember the two women who had wrecked their shop; luckily, Saskia had a solution.  From her bag, she procured several makeup compacts and brushes, and a pocket-sized mirror. Natalie’s eyes watered as each of her brows her plucked into what was admittedly a lovely arch shape.  Her partner made quick work of her, dusting on different powders and smearing on solid sticks of pigment. She swallowed fits of giggles at the ways Saskia screwed up her face while she concentrated, quirking her mouth and scrunching up her nose and squinting.  Rubbing dirt into her hair in a sort of hillbilly hair-dying session completed the look.

Her eyebrows shot up when she got a chance to see the results.  Each tweak by itself was subtle, but the final product made her look drastically different than before.  “Who taught you how to do this?” she wondered.

Saskia propped the little mirror up with rocks and began to work on covering up the smattering of freckles across her face.  “Her name’s Madame Fent. She does hair and makeup for all the performers at the Darkmoon Faire. But when you get ready for shows often enough you learn a lot of little tricks.”

Right, she had been an acrobat with the Faire when they first met.  Natalie had seen a poster advertising her and her brother, “flying in from the frozen north.”  Saskia inevitably rolled her eyes at what she had deemed to be a wide-eyed fear grimace her twelve year-old self had displayed for the poster.  Natalie, on the other hand, thought it was cute. Besides, almost a decade of conditioning had left her nineteen and a half year-old partner with a  _ fantastic _ body.

“Done.  Let’s do this.”  Rising to her feet, the freshly-painted rogue undid her ponytail and shook it out.

Natalie put a hand over her mouth to disguise a laugh.  “You look like an orange puffball.”.

There was a good-natured glint in Saskia’s eyes as she stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry.

“It’s cuuuuute,” she insisted, teasing the thick ginger locks with her fingers.

“It’s a passable disguise, anyways,” Saskia said, turning to look over at Freehold, but Natalie had already seen that she had made her blush.  “Ready?”

They split up, knowing that sticking together would make them easier to recognize.  Saskia took the lower half of the hideout while Natalie took the upper, strolling along and avoiding eye contact.  She was definitely able to appreciate Kul’tiras more now that she wasn’t too busy running or blowing things up to take in the scenery.  The air was so clear she could faintly see the great gates of Boralus. Great, dark clouds rolling in off the sea signalled a storm in the near future, but in the meantime the breeze was light and invigorating.  And the region’s natural aspects were absolutely stunning. The archipelago’s fauna was very similar to that of the mainland Eastern Kingdoms, but so much time and isolation had produced entirely new species. She could see island dwarfism in effect with many of them; no doubt they were adapted to withstand the brutal storms that came their way.  The thought of being able to study them at a later date excited her.

In the distance, she saw a minute flash of lightning explode through the clouds, fading away as fast as it had come.  She wondered if Lady Jaina could see it as well, wherever she was. She hoped the archmage was safe. That most likely wasn’t the case, but it unsettled her to think too much about what had become of her mentor.  Jaina Proudmoore was strong in many ways, maybe the strongest woman she knew, but Natalie had witnessed firsthand how much she suffered. The Lord Admiral’s exile of her daughter had been brutal to watch; she couldn’t even begin to imagine how it might have felt to be on the receiving end.

She walked, by some divine providence, past a building right as a woman was exiting.  A small medallion partially hidden by the lapel of the woman’s coat glinted in the sun when she turned around to lock the door behind her.  Natalie slowed her pace even further, squinting, and recognized the medallion immediately as the logo of the Ashvane Trading Company. Light, what luck!

She continued along as casually as ever, putting on her best poker face until she had passed the building.  A glance over her shoulder informed her that the woman was heading down a set of stairs to the lower levels of Freehold.  Before she could just barge in, however, she needed to see what she was up against. She stepped to the side and took a knee, pretending to fiddle with the laces of her boots.  Meanwhile, her arcane senses reached behind her and felt around inside the little structure. There was one room and three desks. All of them were empty, and there was no one roaming about.  Good.

Lockpicking spells were finicky mistresses.  Luckily, Natalie had well-versed in the art of lock- _ breaking _ , which took significantly less time and effort.  She still cringed at the loud popping sound of the doorknob exploding.  A quick scan of the area let her know that either no one heard or no one cared.  This was a pirate stronghold, after all. Most of the people were probably breaking and entering on a daily basis.  Or worse, which she truly did not want to consider.

Shutting the door behind her, she made her way over to the first desk and started rummaging.  She wasn’t sure exactly what she would find, but she just shrugged and figured that she would know it when she found it.  Her gaze skimmed over countless documents, many of them stuffed to the gills with legal gibberish, but she kept going, roving from one desk to the next.  When she was a bit younger, she had actually considered becoming a copyist. It was a clean job that provided steady pay and opportunities to study, plus her handwriting would look spectacular.  This was quickly reminding her of why she had stopped that train of thought. Light, even pausing to examine one paragraph was turning her brain to goo.

She came upon the final desk and immediately began filching various stamps and seals.  One never knew when they would need to help their girlfriend forge important documents.  She reached under the desk and felt around. An inquisitive smirk found its way to her face as her finger came upon what turned out to be a button that, when pushed, popped open a secret drawer.  Kneeling, she eased the panel down and caught the papers that slid out. A quick rifle through them revealed that they were all stamped with some variation of “TOP SECRET.” Perfect.

She miraculously managed to stuff the papers into her shoulder bag and exit the building without any trouble.  That, unfortunately, did not last long, as the Ashvane employee was making their way back up the stairs, this time with company.  They shouted for her to halt the moment the two locked eyes. With a yelp, Natalie blinked to the first safe vantage point she saw.  The sound of a pistol firing echoed in her ears as she materialized a safe distance away and crouched behind a barrel. She could see them fanning out to search for her; thankfully, no one seemed to notice where she had teleported to.  Now all she had to do was find Saskia.

Slowly rising, she padded across a nearby catwalk and hid again behind a guard rail overlooking the open-air bar.  The triple homicide root beer man was down there, wiping down the bar and nodding along to the story of a very familiar petite redhead.  She poked the rest of her head above the railing and gave a small wave. Saskia returned the greeting with a small nod, turning back to the man and finishing up her story so she could start to walk away, two bottles of root beer in hand.

Natalie slipped down through the buildings to ground level.  The two met up and walked casually to a place that was more out of the way to debrief.  And, of course, enjoy their drinks.

“I feel like we’ve really  _ earned _ this, you know?” Saskia remarked, leaning up against a wall.  “We ruined a lot of people’s days.”

She laughed through her nose, swirling the fizzy liquid around and taking a sip.  It was just as good as she remembered. “I’m starting to feel belatedly guilty,” she admitted.

Saskia tilted her head to regard her partner.  “Why?”

“It’s just…  We’re not just being a general nuisance to the Alliance and Horde.  We’re betraying Anduin. Someone who’s been our friend for, what, six years?”  Although it certainly felt like longer. “It would have been nice to just be goofy teens for a little while longer.  Sitting in Tong’s tavern, playing Kobolds and Catacombs, without having the constant threat of the world’s soul dying hanging over our heads.”

The rogue hummed.  “It would have been nice.  But I don’t think any of us were ever destined to have the luxury of an easy growing-up.  Besides, none of us have ever been a ‘roll with the punches’ type. We punch back.”

Before she could respond, Natalie heard the sound of a woman’s voice asking for anyone suspicious.  She quickly poked her head around the corner and confirmed the identity of the Ashvane employee. “I think that’s our cue to leave,” she informed Saskia.

“Back to Boralus, then,” she agreed.  The moment her hand was on her partner’s shoulder, they were out of sight.

*

As the sun set over Boralus, Saskia led her past the 7th Legion ships and into a quiet little nook overlooking Tiragarde Sound.  There were two women and a man waiting for them. The one on the far left, a dwarven rifleman, tapped the side of his nose. Saskia handed him the report with assurance that Natalie could be trusted.

“We’re having trouble with the tidesages,” grumbled the night elf woman in a low voice.

The rifleman harrumphed.  “What else is new? Anyone who fucks the Old Gods is bound to be problematic.”

Could the priests of Kul’tiras really be tangled up with something like that?  Before she got a chance to ask, the night elf replied, “They’re definitely behind the navy’s disappearance.  The sooner we get rid of them, the better, or we might be bringing back a skeleton crew.”

“So we’re authorized to use lethal force?” Saskia wondered.

“Not yet.”  That was the other woman, a robust Kul’tiran with one milky glass eye.  “Silas has been discouraging people from taking too much direct action. Just gotta keep waiting.”

“Pretty tired of waiting.  Especially given the circumstances, and  _ someone’s _ complete lack of regard for orders,” the rifleman remarked.

In response, Saskia rolled her eyes.  “Azeroth comes first; even the boss thinks so.”

“Sure, but would it kill you to be a little more discreet?”

“Can I ask what exactly is going on with the Old Gods?” Natalie finally managed.

“It’s sticky business,” the night elf began, her voice a near-whisper.  “All the tentacle imagery you see here? It represents N’zoth. They worship him, and he’s gaining power, ready to break out of his prison.  He has Queen Azshara working for him, as well. Practically everything in the sea is a part of their army.”

Her mouth went dry.  “Doesn’t really seem like something a circus would want to get mixed up in,” she noted.

“No one really knows what exactly Silas is up to in the long run,” Saskia admitted, “but we believe in his cause.  Someone has to stand up for Azeroth. And if the Alliance and Horde are too busy murdering each other to deal with total world annihilation, then we will.  By any means necessary.”

The other three ‘7th Legion’ soldiers rumbled their agreement.

A small but hopeful smile found its way onto Natalie’s face.  “This is our home. If there’s even a chance we can save her, we have to try.”  Even if they were completely outnumbered, or missing their grimoires, or feeling hopeless.

The Kul’tiran woman smiled toothlessly back at her.  “You’re doing good work, lass. Just try to be subtle from now on.  Let them fear the consequences of actions.”

She nodded.  “For Azeroth.”

“For Azeroth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm getting a warcraft-themed writing hashtag going on tumblr and twitter, because some of us can't draw for shit. it'll be a 30 day writing challenge for the month of april; there's more details on my twitter @creatively_cole


	12. It's My Own Desire / It's My Own Remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobles and merchants are really, truly starting to get on Anduin's nerves. It isn't long before fending off marriage contracts becomes the least of his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "everybody wants to rule the world" by tears for fears is The most fitting song for this xpac.

When Genn Greymane entered Anduin’s study, it was to announce that two very well-to-do merchants were each looking to speak about betrothing one of their daughters to him.

Anduin’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn around and begin pounding his head against the wall.  Only years of etiquette training caused him to refrain from doing so. Instead, he gestured to the small mountain range of reports and paperwork surrounding him at his desk.  “Please tell them I am unable to grant them an audience for the time being.” His kingly obligations _had_ to be a good excuse.  If they weren’t, nothing was.

“On the contrary, it might be good for you to refresh your palate for a few minutes.  Besides, you never know what’ll happen.” He leaned in almost conspiratorially. “You may actually _enjoy_ the chance to meet people.  Think of it as a belated birthday gift to yourself.”

September 4th came and went with minimal fanfare, as per Anduin’s request.  The war was in full swing; he didn’t want to take time and focus from that for a day that was really just like any other.

To Genn’s remark, all he had to say was, “I’ll speak with them.”

“Good lad.”  The older king clapped his shoulder.  “Let me know if you need anything.”

It did, in fact, feel good to get up and stretch his legs for a few minutes.  In a room with no windows, it was easy to lose track of time. A glance at the clock told him that it was just shy of three in the afternoon.  He put his hands on his lower back and stretched languidly, wincing as each bone in his shoulders and spine popped. Breathing deeply, he smoothed his clothing and made his way to the petitioner’s chamber.

He recognized the merchants as Lockheart and Talbert, co-owners of a very lucrative trading company.  That explained why they appeared together, anyways. A royal marriage for either of their daughters would benefit both of them.

They gave low, sweeping bows which were not reciprocated.  Anduin clasped his hands behind his back and inclined his head.  “Gentlemen, I appreciate your visit, but I must ask you to understand that the war effort does not afford me the necessary time to consider marriage propositions, and I will subsequently not be searching for a wife anytime soon.  Thank you, and good day.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and exited the chamber.  Genn was, naturally, waiting for him outside.

“I would continue our previous conversation if I was sure it wouldn’t fall on deaf ears,” he noted a tad wryly.

“You know I will always listen to your input, Genn,” Anduin replied.  “But I still do not believe that I should be as gung-ho for a wedding as you seem to be.”

Besides, there was only one person whose company he could use at the moment.  Once he returned to his desk, he began penning a letter to Horace. Word had travelled fast that the Westfall Revitalization Project’s leader had allied himself with a Vancleef.  It was his hope, however, that if he and Horace spun the story a certain way, there would be some new people willing to become sponsors. Some of his motives for asking Horace to travel to Stormwind again were selfish, he knew, but he also knew that he couldn’t raise taxes any higher than they already were.  It wouldn’t be fair to the citizens.

A dark, fluffy head came to rest by his elbow.  He mussed Bear’s soft fur with a light chuckle. In the dog’s mouth was his leash, a sign that he refused to wait any longer for his afternoon walk.

Regardless, Anduin insisted, “Give me a little more time, boy.”

In response, Bear dropped his leash to snag the letter and trot off with it.

He tilted his head back and let out an exasperated groan.  He could already see the still-drying ink had been smeared all across the paper.  And, as he was quick to discover, the back of his sleeve.

“Okay, you win.”  He picked up the leash and clipped it onto Bear’s collar.  His furry companion had always been destined to be a large beast, as evidenced by his giant paws as a younger puppy.  Now, at what he presumed was about nine or ten months old, he was almost done growing, and could rest his head on most desks and tables without having to get up on his hind legs.  Had he not been such a calm dog, Anduin knew that he would have been impossible to control.

Plodding contentedly beside his master, Bear snuffled and snorted his way through the keep and across the drawbridge into Stormwind proper, Genn joining on the other side.  Anduin braced himself for yet another long, frustrating, secretly nerve-wracking conversation with the old wolf.

“Sometimes I try to puzzle out exactly why you seem to adverse to the concept of your own marriage,” Genn admitted.

His heart skipped a beat.  Light, had he figured it out?  Had someone told him?

“Of course it’s not because of your maturity.  You have always been ahead of your time in that regard.”

“A relationship just isn’t something I am ready for, Genn,” Anduin insisted.  “I have so much on my mind as it is, I don’t have the time or the energy to be a good partner.”  His stomach twisted as he wondered why that didn’t exactly feel like a lie.

“You have the time to run through your list of excuses,” Genn replied.

“How old were _you_ when you got married?” he returned.

“Twenty-six, but _I_ had the luxury of extended peacetime, with no battles to risk my life in.  You do not.”

The walk he typically used to decompress was fast straying from that purpose, just as predicted.  He rounded a corner into the Cathedral District. They would just go to the church and back, and then he could actually clear his head.

Lowering his voice, Genn inclined his head and asked, “Does it have anything to do with your… conjugal obligations?”

Anduin went scarlet.  “Ah, no. It has nothing to do with that.”  Although, the thought of physical intimacy with someone he was not in any way attracted to sounded repulsive.  He sighed. “I _do_ want to be married someday.  Just not now. I have too many current obligations, and not enough time to take on yet another.”

“Then again, it is all about making time for such--”

“Can we drop the subject for now?” he snapped, and instantly regretted it.  Clearing his throat, he reigned in his frustration and added, “Please?”

He could see Genn’s jaw clench in his periphery.  “Of course,” came the calm but curt reply.

They returned to the keep in silence.  One of the merchants from earlier was still in the petitioner’s chamber, chatting up a few of the nobles.  He made a move in Anduin’s direction, and in response the young king quickened his pace.

Rounding a corner in the inner sanctum, they found Tess and Mia slowly moving down the hallway.  Anduin instinctively lifted his hand, and a wave of Light briefly illuminated Mia, easing any discomforts.  She flashed a grateful smile in his direction, moving the walker another inch forward and taking shuffling two shuffling steps.  Though no longer bed bound and wrapped up in plaster, it would be quite some time before she would be able to walk without any sort of mobility aid.  The braces currently supporting her healing legs were an effective way to ease her into rehabilitation. Even, as Anduin knew from experience, if they were immensely uncomfortable.

Bear was unleashed so he could roam about freely.  He trotted up to Mia, who gave his head a pat as he sniffed the walker before falling in alongside her.

“You certainly found yourself an intuitive creature,” she remarked.

“I think he enjoys having a job.  Or he could just be seeing if you have any treats,” Anduin joked.  “I’m glad to see your voice is returning.”

“Thank you, dear.  It’s made it much easier to keep this one in line,” she replied, giving her husband a playful poke in the side.  “Would you like to join us? We were just making our way to the dining hall.”

After his conversation with Genn, he wasn’t really keen on sharing a meal with him.  He could imagine the man making subtle remarks and being more openly affectionate with Mia.   _Look at what_ we _have.  Don’t you want this?_

“My apologies, but I have a few things I want to finish up before evening,” he replied.

“Maybe another time, then.”

*

Horace arrived in Stormwind a few days later, leaving Sentinel Hill’s gryphon with the flight masters stationed above the Valley of Heroes.  In truth, he hoped that this wouldn’t take too long; he had taken their only gryphon out here, after all. And there was the matter of the Azerite operations.  His hands were shaky at the thought of anyone, especially Anduin, finding out. Westfall’s salvation would quickly turn into its ruin if there was even a single slip up.

He was received calmly by everyone, however, so maybe he could afford to let his guard down for a little while.  Then he met the iron gaze of Genn Greymane, and immediately clammed back up. He gave Anduin a smile in greeting.

“We just laid the foundations for a school and a hospital in Moonbrook,” he announced.  He left out the face that the Defias miners had provided the stone to do so.

His partner brightened.  “That’s wonderful! Tell me more.”

They walked and talked, with Horace letting Anduin lead the way.  Passing by Saskia’s room, he noticed the door was ajar. Was she back already?  No, it was one of the keep’s servants instead, doing a bit of dusting. He waved to her.

Anduin took him into a room that at first he assumed to be the parlor.  Once they were inside and the doors shut, however, he was a tad taken aback.  This was part of the king’s private quarters. He’d been a lot of places in the keep before, but this was new.  It was nice, with simple decorations and a large window to let in plenty of light and a table in the center with a lunch spread already laid out for two.  It reminded him of the little farmhouse kitchen the Saldeans had, minus the actual kitchen.

Before sitting down, he seized the opportunity being alone presented them and pulled his partner into a kiss.  “I love Westfall, but I definitely miss being able to do that,” he remarked.

“I feel the exact same way,” Anduin breathed, and reciprocated the gesture.

Horace hummed against his lips.  The two took their seats and continued to lock lips, their food going untouched for the time being.  This was nice. Being with Anduin was nice. He wouldn’t mind staying just like this for a while, free of the anxieties and frustrations and general concerns that awaited him the moment he left this room.  Moving his chair closer, he draped his arms over his partner’s shoulders and grinned through the kisses as a hand found its way to his hip…

And a pair of large, fuzzy paws slamming down on the table made the plates and silverware shudder.  The two quickly broke apart, startled, as Bear seized _his_ opportunity to chow down on the people food.

Anduin shooed his dog away before he could touch much more than the bread while Horace blew a raspberry and laughed.

Quirking his mouth to the side, the former sighed, “I suppose we should actually eat this before he does.”

They continued talking about the Revitalization Project’s progress.  Horace chose each word carefully, pangs of guilt hitting him at regular intervals.  It felt awful to lie to his partner, especially about something as big as this. But, despite Anduin’s promises… Stormwind wasn’t helping.   _Anduin_ wasn’t helping, although admitting it, even to himself, was hard.  Almost as hard as admitting that Vanessa was right.

They finished their meal with plenty of time to spare before the potential investors were set to arrive.  It gave them a chance to prepare what they were each going to say, and to create as incentivizing of an atmosphere as possible.  Fresh coffee was brewed and small pastries were set on a little cart against the wall, filling the room with the wonderful aroma of freshly-baked goods.  All the tables were moved together--Horace couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction when he managed to accomplish this without pain--and a crisp tablecloth was draped over them.  Horace laid out the charts and timelines he had made within easy reach of each seat. Anduin gave him some advice on public speaking. Bear guarded the pastry cart.

And then they waited.  The bell tolled one o’clock in the afternoon, the set meeting time, and no one had arrived.  That was fine; maybe they were running late. So the two continued waiting.

Fifteen minutes ticked by in silence.  Then thirty. Then the bell tolled two o’clock.

His stomach sank.  “No one’s coming,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry, Horace,” Anduin said, taking a step towards him.

He shook his head.  “No, this is on me. I was the one who spilled the beans about Vanessa.  I shouldn’t have expected something like that to not spread.”

Their attention was pulled away from the failed meeting by the sound of rushed footsteps approaching.  Two of Stormwind’s Royal Guard appeared in the doorway.

“Your Majesty, um…”  The guards swapped nervous glances, and the one on the left continued, “There’s, ah, there’s someone requesting an audience with you, sir.”

“Who is it?” Anduin prompted.

“...Vanessa Vancleef, sir.”

Horace didn’t know why she was here--he had taken the only gryphon, after all--but he was already bracing himself for something bad.  He turned to Anduin, trying to gauge his reaction, but his partner’s expression was blank.

“Send her in,” he told them calmly.

“She never said she intended to come here,” Horace began, but Anduin took his hand.

“You know I trust you.  If she’s here, I highly doubt it’s because you’ve been scheming behind my back,” he reassured him.

 _Oh, Light, just shoot me_.  He managed a small yet strained smile.  “Right.”

The sound of leather boots against stone, followed by the clank and shuffle of armor, had his heart in his throat.   _We really are swinging a bat at the hornet’s nest today, aren’t we._

And then she was standing in the doorway, leather armor as red as blood and head held high.  Her gaze swept back and forth across the room. “All this for little old me?” she drawled. “You shouldn’t have.”

The tension was thick enough to have been cut with a knife.  Anduin gave a slight bow, face drawn. “Miss Vancleef,” he intoned.  “To what do we attribute the occasion?”

Horace folded his arms across his chest.  “So this is unexpected,” he declared sharply.

“As much for you as for me,” she replied.  She pulled a sheaf of parchment out of her pocket and held it out for him.  “The moment you left, I received several strongly-worded letters from landholders in Elwynn and Duskwood _demanding_ I appear in court.”

“About the river?” he wondered, and she nodded.

“I imagine the other delegates will be arriving shortly.”  She pulled out the chair at the head of the tables and settled herself comfortably in it, levelling her challenging gaze in Anduin’s direction.  “Horace, sit next to me,” she added, moving the chair directly to her right.

“Vanessa,” he warned.

Anduin interjected.  “Of course you know that you are free to go wherever you please.  I have never found myself to be insistent on something as trivial as seating.”

Horace could feel the situation growing more and more awkward with each passing second.  “Am I one of the delegates from Westfall?” he asked her.

“Naturally.”

He barely suppressed a groan, walking over and taking the seat which had been offered to him.  Vanessa slid him the letter while keeping her eyes firmly affixed to the king. Leaning over, he saw new writing in the margin: _You need higher standards._

He grabbed her pencil and wrote back: _Jealous?_

She screwed up her face.  “Ew.”

From the other side of the table, Anduin cleared his throat.  “Guards, please summon Count Ridgewell and my legal advisors to help moderate this session,” he called to the two still standing in the entryway.  They snapped up into crisp salutes and exited, and Anduin turned back to Horace.

“Does master need his lapdogs to keep us at bay?” Vanessa wondered.

“I do not have to explain myself to you,” he responded firmly.

Horace’s frown deepened.  “We’re here to get this solved so everyone can move on with their lives.  Let’s try to keep it civil.”

“Your diplomacy skills won’t save this situation, my friend,” the rogue sighed, slinging an arm over the back of her chair and crossing one leg over the other.

“I trust you, Horace,” Anduin insisted.  “And I trust your judgement. I do not have any reason to trust her, given her history.”

“Oh, yes, because I’m so much worse than Garrosh Hellscream was--”

“Your Majesty?”

New guards had appeared at the door, escorting a total of six men in formal garb.  The icy glares the delegates sent in Horace and Vanessa’s direction made it immediately obvious that this was not going to end well.  Or peacefully, for that matter. They greeted Anduin with deep bows and high praise. Vanessa murmured something about kissing ass.

Both parties left at least one seat between themselves and the Westfall delegates.  Anduin, Count Ridgewell, and his legal advisors took up one length of the table, on the same side as Horace.

It was already painfully obvious that the odds were stacked against Westfall.  There were three lawyers for the Elwynn and Duskwood delegates. Meanwhile, Horace and Vanessa just had themselves.  It was six adults with legal and business influence against two unprepared youths. He hummed worriedly.

The first party to present their case was from Elwynn.  A man introducing himself as Joshua Maclure, chief vinter of the Maclure Vineyards, slid forward several copies of a cease and desist.  Most of it was filled with legalese that Horace couldn’t contextualize for the life of him, but the overall message of “stop, or else” read loud and clear.

“All we ask is that the river is returned to its current state.  Our land is the closest to the Elwynn River and our success as a business depends upon using it to irrigate our crops,” the vinter insisted.

Anduin nodded.  “Acknowledged. Westfall, do you have a rebuttal to this?”

“While it is admirable that you wish to continue to be the top provider of cheap wine to Stormwind’s alcoholics, _our_ success of people not dying of dehydration also depends on the river.  Your land is in a lush riparian location. You have lakes, tributaries, and ample groundwater to harvest for your needs.  Westfall has none of that,” Vanessa replied.

“Might I remind everyone gathered,” Anduin interjected, seeing Joshua Maclure’s face go red at the accusation, “that we are not here to call into question the reputations of others.”

Count Ridgewell folded his hands on the table and leaned forward.  “Mr. Maclure, do you have any sort of deed to your land we could examine?”

One of the lawyers procured a yellowed piece of parchment from his briefcase and passed it over.  “This document will show that Maclure Vineyards is entitled to a portion of the Elwynn River, which, at the time it was created, was split in half with the Fulbrow family.  The Fulbrows, however, were murdered, meaning that no current resident of Westfall has legitimate claim to the land, or the natural resources it contains.”

Horace had to contain his surprise.  What had the Fulbrows, of all people, done to warrant a hit on them?  He glanced over to Vanessa, but found her face in its usual scowl. He scribbled a question mark on their paper and slid it over to her.  She didn’t acknowledge it.

Anduin passed on the deed to each of his advisors.  One of them adjusted her square-rimmed glasses and noted, “This does not automatically give you access to the land, either.  Since there is no will present which bequeaths the Fulbrow’s property to any specific person, it technically belongs to the chief governing body of the kingdom.”

Which meant it belonged to his partner.  Which was… a good sign? He didn’t want to leverage their relationship for his own personal gain, though.  Anduin would do what he felt best, and Horace was fine with that.

“Would it be possible to buy that land at any point?” Joshua Maclure asked.

“Not at the moment, no,” Anduin informed him.

The Elwynn delegates turned to their Duskwood counterparts, who nodded.  Horace recognized Duke Prentis, and his stomach sank as the man slid a thin stack of papers forward.

“Duskwood presents its own cease and desist,” the Duke began.  “We would also request that Westfall halt all diversion of the Elwynn River and return the land to its original state.”

“And Westfall presents to you the same thing we presented to Elwynn: you have multiple sources of water besides this one river,” Vanessa insisted.  “We have none of that.”

He shot a glare in her direction, but otherwise did not acknowledge her words.  “Furthermore, we wish to address the issue of egregious over-logging on our territory by the Westfall Revitalization Project--”

“Don’t even start, Prentis.”  She produced her own set of papers that were immediately handed off to Anduin’s legal advisors.  “This is the contract between the Revitalization Project and the Duke enabling us to do the exact thing he’s complaining about.”

There was a long silence as the lawyers converged on the contract.  They mumbled amongst themselves but otherwise didn’t move or speak. It was an awkward moment for everyone outside of their bubble as they waited for a verdict.

Finally, the legal advisor that wore his hair in a way that suggested he had been electrocuted turned his attention toward the Westfall delegates.  “There is absolutely no refuting this,” he remarked. “Who represented you?”

Vanessa set her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and looking smug.  “I represent myself,” she replied primly.

“I see.  Well, in any case, your signature on here means that you are still legally obligated to agree to the terms presented, Duke Prentis.  The Westfall Revitalization Project will continue to be allowed to log in the designated area,” he declared.

Horace released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.  It was a small victory, but it was something. He wasn’t sure if he should thank the legal advisors or not.  In the end, he stayed silent.

“There is still the matter of the river,” Duke Prentis eventually said.

“Indeed.  I hope that we can come to a compromise that pleases all parties involved.”  Anduin leaned forward in his chair. “Is there any way Westfall can continue diverting part of the river through their farms?”

The immediate and general consensus was: “No!... Your Majesty.”  Horace suppressed a groan.

“Gentlemen, please take a moment to recall Miss Vancleef’s reasoning behind Westfall’s actions.  As someone who works closely with the Revitalization Project, I can assure you that not a single spec of the resources they use are going to waste.  Everything they request is desperately needed,” he explained. “And as your king, I will strive to take your needs into account, just as I have taken theirs.  I am willing to offer a government subsidy or tax deduction to those who use alternative sources of water. In exchange, all I ask of you is leniency towards water rights.”

Horace remembered Anduin telling him how he wanted to do his best to make up for years of neglect the crown had shown Westfall.  It warmed his heart to know that he was trying to make good on that promise. Even if there were some obstacles to overcome. Although the war was probably going to be more than just an obstacle.

Count Ridgewell, who had thus far remained silent, cleared his throat to speak as Anduin’s suggestion was once again shot down.  “Your Majesty, if I may remind you, Elwynn has now taken up the mantle of Stormwind’s bread basket. Perhaps--”

He held up a hand.  “Absolutely not. Westfall and its people are not a lost cause.”

“Your faith is commendable,” he said with a small bow.  “But the people of Westfall seem to prefer bemoaning their situation rather than working hard to fix it.”

Horace’s whole body tensed.  Leaning forward, he snarled, “Are you _kidding_ me?”

The count started at the sudden display of anger.  “You dare--”

“You wouldn’t know what hard work was if someone but a _gun_ to your head, and _handed you a shovel!_ ” he shouted.

Anduin’s eyes went wide.  But before he could speak, his red-faced counterpart threw his hands up in disbelief and exclaimed, “And the exonerable paladin shows his true colors!  Your veteran status doesn’t give you any right to try and police your betters, _child_.”

To Horace’s surprise, Vanessa was the one who leaped to his defense, standing so quickly she knocked her chair over.  “This _man_ has experienced more poverty, more hardship, than you pinheads could ever fathom.  In the ten years I’ve known him I have never seen him try to do anything but help keep his family from the brink of starvation.  He risked his life against the Burning Legion for sorry sacks of shit like you.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Count Ridgewell.  “He is your better in every. Single. Way. And you will show him some Light-damned respect.”

There was dead silence, every gaze affixed to the Defias leader as she stood there, glaring daggers at the nobleman.

“You think you know what it’s like to walk in our shoes,” she spat.  “Were you ever forced to join the military so your sisters wouldn’t have to resort to eating carrion?  Did you ever watch greedy ‘champions’ saw off your father’s head and parade it back to a treacherous king?”

“Enough!”  Anduin’s voice echoed through the room, ending her tirade but drawing her baleful attention.

“This is not the place to hurl about accusations.  We are here to peacefully come to an agreement. Miss Vancleef, your grievances are understandable.  Stormwind will continue to provide funding to the region’s relief efforts. In exchange…” He sighed, clenching his jaw.  “In exchange, all we ask is that you respect the wishes of those delegates gathered here and return the Elwynn River to its original state until we can figure out a more suitable solution.”

“Let me refresh your memory, King Wrynn: Westfall has zero groundwater.  We are dry as a bone,” Vanessa returned.

“The river is still free for all to access--”

Ignoring him, she turned to face the other delegates.  “Your selfishness and your greed has ruined lives for years.  Every gold piece you earn is stained with blood. As the kingdom’s main source of ore--the very ore fuelling _your_ war, Wrynn--we have every right to divert part of the river.  And we _will_ exercise that right.”

“Or what?” Joshua Maclure challenged.

“Or Westfall will no longer consider itself part of the kingdom of Stormwind.”


	13. Ramble On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalie and Saskia follow a new lead on Jaina Proudmoore, while Horace tries to figure out what the hell Vanessa was thinking.

Saskia had felt someone slip something under her pillow in the wee hours of the morning, but it was cold and burrowing deeper under the blankets with Natalie was so much nicer than bothering to fully wake up.  However, as she lay there, on the verge of once again drifting off to sleep, she felt an only somewhat furry creature decide to use her head as a pillow.

She nudged her partner until she heard a groggy, “Good morning.”

“Your weird cat’s ass is on my face,” she informed her, voice muffled.

“ _ Our _ cat.”

“Our weird cat’s ass is on my face.”

Natalie gently pat the space above Saskia’s head until Grim moved over, settling back down in between his moms and purring.

After a few minutes of lying in the vaguely-comfortable inn bed, she resigned herself to being awake and alert and sat up.  Thank the gods for long underwear; the “Snug Harbor” was about as well-insulated as a jail cell. With a yawn, she reached behind and pulled the note out from under her pillow.  She grunted thoughtfully.

“What?” Natalie mumbled.

“Got a tip about Jaina,” Saskia replied.  “My contact said her captors made a pit stop in Tol Dagor recently.”

That got her eyes open.  She scoot closer and read the letter herself.  “I remember reading about Tol Dagor. It didn’t seem like a place you’d want to spend  _ any _ time in.”

“How big was that travel guide you got?”

“Four volumes.  It helped me learn how to speed-read.”  She hummed a laugh as Grim started to lick her forehead, reaching up to rub his cheek.  “I feel kind of bad leaving Jaina for an anarchy side quest,” she said softly, to herself as much to the other two in the room.

The remainder of the note was encrypted.  It contained orders directly from Silas to retrieve tomes and garb from the tidesages, the former to study and the latter to disguise spies with.  The names of additional contacts and coordinates for drop points were listed alongside a timeframe that she was supposed to follow. Which was ending… in about twenty minutes, according to her pocket watch.  Apparently no one but her knew how to appreciate five more minutes.

“We can turn our focus back to looking now, though,” she assured her partner.  Swinging her legs off the bed and lurching to her feet with the momentum, she added, “If we can bust up some tidesages in the process, even better.  Just got some new orders in from the boss.”

Natalie was up and ready to go in a matter of minutes.  “Alright, Grim, the bed’s all yours.”

The prison island of Tol Dagor was easy to find, and, thanks to the morning fog, easy to land Darcy on.  Hopefully the lighthouse hadn’t caught sight of them. Saskia bade the proto-drake to stay put and be ready for her whistle, and only eat the guards if they tried to hurt him.  Snorting to acknowledge her orders, he made his way over to the nearby wreckage of a ship and made himself comfortable.

There was a sewer grate that they could probably saw through, but they quickly decided against it.  If they wanted to wade through a river of shit, they could just attend a Stormwind noble’s party.

She readied a grappling hook just as a boat full of inmates docked nearby.  There was a chip in the battlements directly across from where she and Natalie lurked that would serve as a good anchor point.  Ready, aim… nailed it. With the press of a button, the two sailed across the gap. Saskia rolled with the momentum, coming up in a crouch.  Warning cries from below meant that they had been spotted; they would have to work fast.

“I need a moment to get a mental map of this place,” Natalie whispered.  She knelt and took a deep breath, placing her hands on the salt-scoured stone and extending ribbons of arcane energy through the tips of her fingers.

Saskia, in the meantime, would need to protect her.  Okay, scoot over to the guard tower, stop, check for guards, select a grenade, and presto!... Or not.  She had grabbed a glitter bomb instead of a flash. Although their dull brown plate did look a lot more festive.

She sprang atop the battlements and onto the little stone shelf above the door.  With strict no-kill orders, she would have to get creative with how she dispatched the guards currently running outside.  A slingshot pellet struck one of them in the back of the head, making him turn and expose the rest of his face. Bam! Right between the eyes.  She brought her full weight down on the second so he knocked himself out hitting his head on the ground. Before the third could shout a warning, she had him in a sleeper hold with a hand clamped over his mouth.  Man, Kul’tiran necks were thick. This guy was taking forever to pass out.

When he finally did, she set his head gently down so as not to jolt him awake and moved into the guard tower.  There were a few extra sets of armor that she selected pieces from to buckle over her leathers. She took one of the polearms hanging on the wall, tipped a helmet slightly over her eyes, and was striding confidently out the same door by the time more guards hustled up the stairs to find their unconscious friends.

She and Natalie moved behind a stack of crates.  “What did you find?” she whispered.

“There’s a large Azerite cache directly across from where we are,” Natalie replied.  “Unfortunately, it’s right next to the warden’s office.”

“And there’s no way we’re going to be quiet,” Saskia supplied.

“It’s been a few days, but I think I still remember my polymorph spell.  But if I don’t, can you knock him out?”

She knew that Natalie would remember the spell.  Just as she been able to recall so much else. Nevertheless, she agreed to serve as backup.

Her partner took a deep breath, anxiety plain in the way she furrowed her brow.  Saskia put a hand on her shoulder and prepared herself for the brief out-of-body experience that usually accompanied teleportation spells.

It came, but when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t quite where she was supposed to be.  She tucked into a somersault as soon as she hit a set of stairs leading up to the battlements, cringing at how her body thudded against the wood.  Natalie, meanwhile, had made it to the intended destination, and was currently hurrying towards a hiding spot.

Saskia waited until she glanced in her direction before giving her a thumbs up to signal that she was alright.  She waved her hand in discouragement when she saw Natalie prepare to teleport back to her, then motioned for her to keep going.  Tol Dagor may have been crawling with Ashvane guards, but this was a good opportunity to explore. Who knew what information she would be able to find.  And fortunately, she didn’t have to go far.

There was a group of tidesage acolytes in the courtyard below.  It was a small and secluded space, with a nice little water feature and smooth stone benches.  Almost too nice for a prison. Then again, the tidesages themselves were out of place here. She made sure to properly identify what grenade she was using before pulling the pin and dropping it down into their laps.

While they staggered around in shock from the flash, she slid down a support beam and let the first one taste a mean roundhouse kick.  The others were still too disoriented to stop her as she broke their noses with the butt of her dagger. She stripped three of them of their vestments but made sure to pick everyone’s pockets, filching anything even remotely useful.  Like the coins.

She was just about to climb back up the stairs when a frigid,  _ slimy _ hand clapped her shoulder.  A chill went up her spine, and she instinctively unsheathed her dagger.

“KILL IT WITH FIRE!” the Bone Witches shrieked.

Saskia knew by now that they only wanted one thing dead more than her: Old Gods.  The blade buried itself in the jugular of her attacker before she got a good look at them.  When she did, she gasped.

The figures were humanoid, but grossly disfigured with scaly, sick green skin and a mass of writhing tentacles.  Three of them were stripped down to their underwear, so she knew that these were the acolytes, though that didn’t lessen her horror.  But this confirmed that the tidesages were, in fact, in kahoots with N’zoth. She couldn’t let them continue their work now could she?

Her free hand gripped another blade.  “Time to die,” she informed them flatly, and attacked.

When all was said and done, six dead minions of N’zoth were splayed out on the pavement.  Chest heaving from the exertion, Saskia waited for the last twitches to cease before wiping her weapons clean and stowing them away.  She brushed the saltwater from her face as she surveyed her handiwork. So much for the no-kill orders. Though she supposed Silas would excuse self-defense.

“Saskia?”  
Natalie voice startled her attention away from the bodies.

“What  _ happened _ here?” her partner wondered.

“It was them or me,” she explained with a shrug.  She softened after a moment at Natalie’s uneasy expression.  They were both used to seeing death, but Saskia was definitely more comfortable with exacting it.  “Are you okay?”

They locked eyes.  “It is weird that I want to perform an autopsy?” she finally asked.

“Maybe,” she replied casually, and they laughed.

“Sorry about that blink spell back there,” Natalie continued.  “The moment I think I know something, I always seem to have trouble with it.”

“You’re still the smartest person I’ve ever met.  And I’ve met a lot of people.”

She tilted her head, crimson flooding her cheeks as she fought down a smile.  “Let’s try this again,” she said, and took Saskia’s hand.

This time, they both appeared near the warden’s office.  All around the deck were cannons, their barrels coated with blue and gold dust.  Cannonballs, infused with Azerite, were piled up higher than the little building.

The warden came rushing out soon after they began making their way towards the stockpile.  “Intruders! I’ll show you to mess with the Ashvane Trading Company!” He loaded two slugs into his rifle and prepared to fire.

“They let a private company run a prison!?” Saskia shouted incredulously.

“They’re doing more than that,” Natalie returned, and fired a bolt of arcane energy.

The rifle went off just as the spell reached the warden.  Saskia’s heart leaped into her throat as the bullet sailed over Natalie’s head, barely grazing the top of her hair.  That was the first and last shot the warden was able to make, thankfully. Once the smoke cleared, a sheep was baying in fright.  Well, almost a sheep. The arms and legs were still very much human.

Natalie’s hands flew to her mouth.  Saskia, meanwhile, busted up laughing, though she felt bad.  But some things were just naturally funny.

“You  _ have _ to learn how to do that on purpose,” she insisted.

“I would prefer not to!”

The man-sheep began skittering towards them at top speed.  Still unable to contain her laughter, Saskia decided to let it chase her around the rooftop, leaving Natalie to deal with the Azerite.  Light, she looked so badass. It sent a thrill through her to watch her partner work, so brilliantly lit up by the explosions.

Their next task took them inside the warden’s office.  They shut the door just as the man-sheep slammed into it, cracking the wood but thankfully not breaking it.

“Kinda reminds me of when we got chased by those hozen,” Saskia remarked breathlessly.

“That was much more terrifying than this,” Natalie replied, though a small chuckle escaped her.  “It’s funny looking back on it, of course.”

They spent the next five minutes searching through boxes and boxes of papers.  Then the next ten. Fifteen. Nothing.

Groaning in frustration, Natalie finally admitted defeat.  “Guess they don’t record ships just stopping by for supplies.”

“Shit, you think they would.  Ashvane must just do a really good job covering her tracks.”  Saskia quirked her mouth to the side, hands on her hips. “Sorry this didn’t work out.”

“Don’t worry about it.  At least we can rule this place out.”

Saskia whistled for Darcy from inside the office, seeing as the polymorph spell was starting to wear off.  On the count of three, they burst through the door, racing past the man-sheep and cackling as it attempted to follow them.  Her proto-drake looked absolutely perplexed as to whether he should eat it or run away. In the end, however, he decided on a tried and true method, and sent it flying with one swift kick.

*

Her Darkmoon contact met her behind the Snug Harbor, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” he groused at her.

She handed over the tide age tomes and vestments.  “I don’t, but I’ll take your word for it.”

He harrumphed.  “Did that lead turn into anything?”

“Unfortunately, no.  But you aren’t going to believe what we saw there.”

His eyes narrowed intently as she relayed the day’s adventures to him.  “We’ve been getting reports from Stormsong Valley that the tidesages there are dabbling with the same magics.  I informed Silas of this earlier today.”

“And?”

“As long as you’re obvious about it, you’re authorized to use lethal force against anyone affiliated with the Old Gods.”

*

He started out the letter by saying:  _ I had no idea Vanessa was going to do that. _  After that, he hit a wall.  What could he possibly say that wouldn’t also expose their Azerite trade?  A few minutes of thinking finally resulted in him assuring Anduin that he would do his very best to make sure that the Defias kingpin wouldn’t actually follow through with her threat.  The last thing he wanted was to be caught up in even more treasonous actions than he already was. He tapped the tip of his pencil to his lips in thought, then scrawled down more thoughts.

 

_ I don’t blame you for not being able to get Westfall any funding going forward.  I just don’t know how long the project’s going to be able to stay afloat. But at least we tried. _

 

The last sentence probably should have finished with “to do things legally.”  It should have if Horace was intent on telling the truth, anyways, which he wasn’t.  He was continuing to lie. Just as Anduin was continuing to break the promises he had made.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

Secession from Stormwind.  The mere thought sent spikes of anxiety through his chest.  Anduin claimed that the kingdom’s military was spread thin as it was; would he even have the power to put down an attempted secession?  Would he even send martial force against the very people he had sworn to do better by?

Horace James Lin was a farm boy from Westfall.  He wasn’t cut from the type of cloth that dealt with politics, or lead secret, treasonous operations against the crown, or court kings, if he was being honest.  He wasn’t some grand hero like the people he had fought beside in the Legion war. All he was, in the end, was someone caught in a crossroads. One road led him to Anduin, and the laws of Stormwind and the way he had initially wanted to do things.  The other led him to Westfall, where his family and Vanessa and everyone whose hope he had restored. And a bright red target painted on his back. And he was so far down the current path that there was no turning back. It was do or die. But, in a way, hadn’t he already chosen his route?

Vanessa approached him at the mailbox.  At first, he pretended to ignore her, slipping the sealed letter in and watching it disappear with a little arcane poof.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything,” she told him.

He stopped dead in his tracks.  “Are you?” he wondered.

“I am, actually,” she replied, a tad tartly.  Her face softened. “There’s something I want to show you.”

She beckoned for him to follow.  He did so mostly out of curiosity.  There was something about her that seemed so… sad.  There had yet to be a moment where her usual haughtiness and bravado had ever resembled the face she wore now.

Into the Deadmines they went, and Horace’s guard instinctively went up.  Tight spaces, as he was coming to find, were not his cup of tea. Vanessa didn’t stop at the Azerite deposits, though.  Nor did she stop to show him some new technology. They kept walking past everything, only pausing for brief moments to acknowledge the greeting miners.  He had never been this deep in the mines before. He hadn’t realized the mines even went this far back.

All of the sudden, the tunnel opened up, and Vanessa halted.  To the right was the dull light of late afternoon shining on the ocean water that gently lapped at the cove’s walls.  And sitting in the middle of the expansive space was a heap of what could only be described as junk. Most of it was singed or charred beyond recognition, but there were a few canons that could be seen lining the upper level.

Vanessa gestured to the remains with a broad sweep of her hand.  “This is all that’s left of my attempted coup. A mistake that should never be repeated.  If we play our cards right, secession will mean no bloodshed.”

“If we play our cards right, we won’t have to secede at all,” Horace rebutted.

She folded her arms across her chest and turned to face him, but she didn’t appear angry, just guarded.  “I said that I would do anything to save Westfall. I still mean that.”

He nodded once.  “I believe you.”

Kicking a pebble down the slope, she breathed deep.  “Can I… Can I get something off my chest?” Her voice was higher, more strained.

“Oh, um, yeah,” he assured her, somewhat surprised by the request.

“Some nights, when I can’t sleep, I come back here.  I walk around the ship and think back on everything that went down.  Sometimes I bring a lantern, and I can see the faded bloodstains. And I think to myself, you know, what if I really am the bad guy from the wanted posters?  What if all I did was send people to their deaths in some petty scheme for revenge?”

He was stunned into silence.  When he finally found his voice again, he managed to say, “I-I don’t think you are.”

She stared at him, searching.

“I think the Saldeans were onto something when they called you ‘Hope’,” he continued.  “That’s what you give people, but you follow through. Which is… more than I can say for other people right now.”

A small, unsteady smile appeared on her face.  She quickly cleared her throat. “Thank you, Horace.”  The single tear that fell down her cheek was dashed away by her thumb before it got far.  “You were just really nice to me, so I won’t make the obvious comment about your boyfriend.”

“Much obliged.”  Although, it would be accurate.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

He could feel his cheeks heat up at the same time something painful settled in his throat.  “Yeah,” he admitted softly. Looking back up at the ship, he wondered, “How much of that do you think is salvageable?”

“Dunno.  Why, what are you thinking?”

“Moonbrook needs an orphanage.  Orphans need a roof over their heads.”  With a crooked grin, he added, “And hope.”

A multitude of emotions swept across Vanessa’s face.  Turning to face him, she extended a hand. “Then let’s give it to them… partner.”

He clasped it in a single, firm handshake, and in that moment, he chose the path he would continue to walk on.  “Partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trying to find new ways to describe fighting and continuous movement because it gets pretty boring to write and worse to read tbqh. anyways, thank you for reading!! i've got some stuff coming up in this fic that i'm reall excited to show you all~

**Author's Note:**

> I have a twitter @creatively_cole and a tumblr (creativelycole.tumblr.com) that I gab on.  
> 


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